Dean
by JenBurch
Summary: Something's up with Dean and Sam can't figure out what it is. Could it be a result of a head injury? Did he come back from hell... different? Or is there something else going on? For MUFFY! Lotsa hurt!Dean
1. Chapter 1

Dedicated: To the amazing, incredible and beautiful Muffy Morrigan. Not only has she been an incredible support to me, and many others, but she is an awesome writer too! (If you don't already know that, then what are you doing here? Go read her stuff!!!) Muffy's going through a difficult time, her health isn't good and she's in need of surgery. However, the insurance company, in their infinite wisdom, is making her wait and so she's stuck in bed with limited computer time no less! I wanted to write this to put a smile on her face, to know that she's loved and, even though I cant be there in person, you know I'm sitting here thinking of you. EVERY word that's coming up is written with love and understanding, AND whilst thinking of you, my friend :)

Hope you're up for some hurt!Dean, hun… a little birdie told me it might make you feel a little better! Hmmm… wonder who that could've been?

Special thanks to – my little birdie, TraSan, who is also an incredible friend to both myself and Muffy.

Beta'd by TraSan. Thanks again!!!

**DEAN**

**Chapter One  
**

Dean Winchester. Older brother. Eldest son… well, to deceased parents, so what does that even mean anymore? Older brother. That's it, that's all I am. And what good am I at that anyway? I let Sam die. I was too late, I didn't get to him in time and he died in my arms. What the hell good am I if I can't even protect my little brother, my one and only reason for living? The only family I have left…

The deal… yup, another Winchester in hell. Two out of three dead Winchesters in hell… well, Dad's not there now, but he was. At least he got out, at least he got to move on. Me? Nah, I get yanked out by a bunch of angels wanting me to save the world! I couldn't save my brother, what the hell makes them think I could save the world? I'm useless! I mean, geez, I cant even save-

"Dean? You okay?" Sam asked, breaking into Dean's thoughts. Dean looked up at him from sharpening his favourite hunting knife. Cleaning the weapons always made Dean think, it was usually a peaceful time but today it just made him reflect on everything he had. Everything he had left. "Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean assured his brother, offering up his best attempt at the shit-eating grin that he had perfected over the years. It didn't seem to work as well anymore. Guess I don't have as much to smile about these days. "You were talking about this weirdo ghost?"

Sam frowned. He didn't believe Dean was okay, not by a long shot, but he didn't press him on it. He knew Dean wasn't ready to talk yet. He'd learned one thing since Dean had come back from hell, and that was when not to push. He didn't know how to recognise when Dean was ready to talk, though. He thought that's because Dean didn't do a lot of talking anymore.

"Yeah, the weirdo ghost," Sam nodded. He turned back to his laptop but was keeping an eye on his brother out of the corner of his eye. Dean hadn't been quite himself since he'd come back, but this just seemed like something else. "Apparently he's been around for the last year or two. Got a couple of victims that he's killed rather violently, beaten to death."

"Really?" Dean asked, suddenly interested. Ghost generally didn't beat people to death, normally the deaths were unexplained.

"Yeah, beyond recognition."

"Cool," Dean nodded.

Sam chuckled.

"Trust you to be interested now," Sam told him. He glanced at the screen once more before turning back to face Dean. "Apparently he was a pretty nasty sort when he was alive, too. There were a number of murders that the police were sure he was responsible for but they couldn't prove it. The one investigator who came close died. He was the private investigator of one of the victims and he had arranged to meet the detective on the case, but when the detective got there-"

"The dude was dead?"

Sam hesitated.

"What?"

"He was, well, a little beyond dead," Sam told him. He turned the laptop so that Dean could see the screen. On it was a full screen image of something that Dean was certain was supposed to be the remains of a human being, but it looked more like mince meat. The face had been pummelled beyond recognition, his stomach had been hacked at by some kind of sharp implament until it had split open and the insides had been shredded too.

"Whoah," Dean hissed, gritting his teeth. "If that's what this guy did when he was alive, what the hell's he doing now he's dead?"

Sam didn't answer. He didn't have to. Dean knew that this ghost was about as bad as it got and there was just one thing they could do about it.

"Salt and burn it is," Dean announced. He glanced outside and saw the moon high in the sky. "Know where he's buried?"

"Yup."

"Good."

Without another word, the brothers grabbed their bags and walked out the motel room. They meant business, and this time things were gonna be messy. The mess was supposed to be for the ghost as its bones were burnt to dust, its spirit sent straight to hell where _it _belonged.

They didn't expect things to go any different, but sometimes thing just don't work out the way you expect.

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Sam had been digging the grave for over an hour while Dean leaned against the shovel grinning down at him. Sam was getting pissed off at him, but he didn't want to say anything because he just wasn't sure what to expect these days. Usually they'd help dig the grave until they'd reach the coffin and then one would jump out to keep watch for the angry spirit while the other broke in to expose the body. This time, however, Dean had decided it was time for a change, claiming that as the older brother he could delegate the jobs he didn't want to do.

Sam gritted his teeth and ignored him. He was used to digging graves himself, anyway, his dad had made him do that plenty of times claiming that it would teach him to obey orders and that sometimes the hunt was about doing the dirty jobs. Besides, he was the weakest link and, aside from needing to learn who was in charge and build up a little muscle, John had stated it was best he dig and let the real hunters cover the grave.

It was crap, all of it. Sam hadn't believed it then and he didn't believe it now. It was just an excuse, a lets-pick-on-Sammy joke. Again.

Dean went to hell for me, Sam reminded himself. And I couldn't save him. I couldn't get him back. He should make me pay for that, he should hate me. He's been through enough, the least I could do is to dig a damn grave without getting pissy about it.

"Come on Sam, put your back into it," Dean grinned. "That end looks a little high to me, you know you have to dig down level or you'll reach the body at one end and piss the ghost off before you can expose the whole thing!"

Sam sighed and headed for the other end of the grave, knowing that Dean was right. It wasn't getting any easier to bite his tongue, however. It only took him another ten minutes to level the grave down and suddenly he struck wood.

"Dean?" Sam looked up at him, his face serious. "I'm there. Get ready, coz this guy is gonna be pissed."

Dean nodded. Sam broken into the coffin, prying the lid open. A cry from above him made his heart leap into his throat.

"Dean?" he called, standing up. Dean was flying through the air, landing on a nearby headstone before falling to the ground. "DEAN!"

Sam began scrambling out of the grave, the dirt at the edges falling away and making it a lot harder. It was taking too long.

"Dean!" Sam called again. The grave gave in again and Sam fell against the coffin, landing in the lap of the ghosts body. "Shit, shit, SHIT! Dean!"

Sam got to his feet again, trying desperately to get out of the grave to help his brother, but he just couldn't get a grip on anything to get out. He looked for his brother around the graveyard, but couldn't find him. His heart was racing, palms were sweating and fear was threatening his sanity.

Suddenly a sound forced its way though the blood pounding in his ears. It was familiar.

A gurgling?

Sam hesitated, listening carefully. No, not gurlging.

Choking?

GASPING!

Oh God, where is he? Sam looked around desperately, but his brother was nowhere to be seen.

"DEAN!" Sam called again. "Dean! Come on, man, where are you?!"

There was another sound. It sounded like-

"DEAN!"

"_Sam?"_ Dean's voice was weak, but it was there. It sounded hoarse, like he was forcing his voice through a crushing windpipe. _"Look… up…"_

Sam looked up. About ten feet from where he was stuck in the grave, Dean was held by some invisible force above the ground. Sam couldn't see enough of Dean to know for sure, but he thought there was blood dripping down Dean's face.

Sam looked around the grave, desperate to find a way out or something to help Dean. He saw his shotgun, loaded with rock salt, but it was too far from the grave for him to reach. It wouldn't have helped, anyway, since Sam wasn't sure where he would aim it. He couldn't see the spirit and he couldn't risk aiming it at Dean in the hopes that the spirit was there, holding him up. Dean was clearly hurt and he didn't need to be shot with rock salt to add to the pain.

He'd done that once, he'd never do that again. He'd never turn a gun on Dean again.

Ever.

There was one other choice.

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The minute Dean heard Sam say he'd reached the coffin he knew that things were about to get dicey. He glanced up, prepared for a fight, prepared to defend Sam and the grave to the end. He had the gun ready, heavy in his hands, but he didn't get a chance to even raise it when he was hit by something he couldn't see. Before he even realised what had happened, he felt himself sailing through the air. He tried to call out for Sam, but the breath had been knocked out of him and what resulted was a strangled cry.

Pain shot through his body, jarring his back and making the edges of his vision turning black. He wasn't sure what had happened, couldn't form the thoughts to figure it out. It didn't matter, he didn't have time to think anyway as a moment later he was yanked up and then, all he was aware of was the burning in his lungs.

He couldn't breathe.

The ghost, the damn ghost! Dean thought, struggling for air. Shit, Sam! I have to get to Sam!

Darkness threatened to overcome him, but he refused to give up. He'd given up once before, let fear overwhelm him and it had caused his brother his life. He wouldn't let that happen again, he wouldn't fail his brother again. He fought desperately against whatever it was that was blocking off his airway as he heard his brother calling out for him. He could hear the fear, the _panic_ in Sam's voice.

Oh man, this was bad – crossing the beams bad.

"Sam?" he wheezed, forcing his voice out painfully. "Look… up…"

Dean raised his hands to his throat, trying to push away whatever was strangling him, but he could feel nothing. He couldn't get a grip on anything and the result was his arms flailing around him uselessly. His head was pounding.

Then, suddenly, the pressure around his throat, the pain in his chest was relieved and Dean sucked in a huge lungful of air before-

_Thud!_

The air was knocked out of him again as Dean hit the ground. He lay there, dazed, his arm bent awkwardly beneath him. Pain was shooting through his body as he lay there, unsure of what to do next. He was panting for air, his vision clearing, as he wondered what the hell had happened. He was as good as dead, he'd been sure of it. But then-

"Sam?" Dean croaked out. He lifted his head weakly as he tried to look for his brother. He'd expected Sam by his side by now, but all he saw was flames. Fire leapt from the grave and Dean knew that Sam had finished the salt and burn. He'd saved his life.

But where was he?

"Sam?" Fear once again threatened to overwhelm him as Dean looked for his brother. He forced himself to his knees, keeping his sore arm against his abdomen as he looked around the grave. Sam had to be there somewhere, otherwise how had he managed to get rid of the ghost. No one else would have done it. He scratched at his hip, the world tipping around him. "Sam!"

Dean's voice grew stronger as his breathing returned to normal. Something caught his attention through the flames that had Dean on his feet, all thoughts of pain gone as he ran to the other side of the grave.

"SAM!" Dean shouted, falling to his brothers side. Sam was crawling from the grave, his jeans and jacket on flames. "Shit, Sam! What'd you do?"

Dean pushed Sam to the ground, rolling him onto his back. Sam immediately started to roll, trying to put out the flames, while Dean patted at his jacket to put out the more immediate threat. It didn't take long to put out the fire, but it scared the crap out of Dean to see Sam on fire. Sam had been rescued from a fire too many times in their lives, and seeing him on the verge of burning alive…

"You okay?" Sam asked, pulling Dean further from the flames. "Dean?"

Dean nodded.

"We gotta get outta here," Sam continued, narrowing his eyes in concern. "You sure you're okay?"

"A bit sore, maybe," Dean admitted. They got to their feet and as the world tilted around him, Dean felt strong arms grab him, holding him up. "Maybe a bit more than-"

The darkness won.

FOR MUFFY!

A/N – hope you like it Muffy! Then is more to come :)

To everyone else, please send well wishes to Muffy. Every review will be another wish, another prayer, more hope for my dear, dear friend.


	2. Chapter 2

Dedicated to the AWESOME Muffy Morrigan! One of my all-time favourite authors, published no less! I have yet to buy her book, but it is on my list and the minute I have the cash I'm off to Amazon to get it!!! If you haven't yet, go to her profile and there's a link there. Meanwhile, hun, I want to thank you so much. I know I've said this to you before in emails and things, but you're such an important part of my life! I've known you for a year now, did you know that? And you've helped me through some incredibly difficult times. In many ways, you, your support and your incredible talent has saved my life. I wouldn't be sitting here, writing this, if it weren't for your friendship. I love you so much hun, and no matter what happens I hope you'll remember how important you are to me. You've honestly changed my life!

Special Thanks to TraSan, another incredible author and friend! I have to say a special thanks for being there for me over the last… geez, it feels like forever! Like Muffy, your support has been huge and you, too, have saved my life. If I didn't have you in my life, hun, I wouldn't be able to giggle over Disney Flicks! LoL Go figure huh? And a special HUGE thanks for beta'ing this before work so I could put a smile on Muffy's face that little bit quicker :)

Beta'd by the awesome TraSan! I fiddled after she beta'd so all mistakes remaining are my own.

A/N – I nearly posted this about eight hours or so ago. I'm trying to write quickly because this is a very special fic and I'd promised Muffy she'd have another chapter to read when she woke up, but I wasn't happy with it just then, and it would've been un-beta'd. I thought about it for a while and finally decided that I wanted it to be perfect – or at least without missing apostrophes! LoL I'm so glad I waited because TraSan picked up some mind-blowing concerns… or maybe they just seemed that way coz her eyes were glued shut at the time! Anyway, this chapter is very much improved thanks to her, and I'm excited for Muffy to read it now.

Disclaimer: Forgot to mention this before, maybe it was just denial, but the boys aren't mine. Damn it! BUT the idea of the story line is mine… however, since the story is dedicated to Muffy, I don't really own that either. That one, however, I'm more than happy to hand over… just wish I could own the boys! I might relinquish Dean coz he makes her happy… geez, rambling or what?!?

One with the chapter! Quick!

DEAN

Chapter Two

"Look, I'm fine, okay, just let me see my brother," Sam snapped impatiently at the nurse who was dressing the burn on his arm. The wound was minor, it hurt but it was nothing that he couldn't have dealt with back at the motel. Dean, on the other hand, had a nasty gash on his forehead that had worried Sam and the minute he'd dragged his barely conscious brother into the emergency room he'd been whisked away for treatment on his own wounds. Since then he hadn't been able to find anything out about Dean's injuries. "How's my brother? Is he okay?"

"I don't know anything about your brother's condition," the matronly nurse told him sharply. She hadn't liked Sam's story about how they had sustained their injuries and Sam knew that she had been suspicious that there was more going on. Sam got the feeling that she blamed him. "I'm sure someone will be along to talk to you as soon as he's… safe."

Sam narrowed his eyes away, anger filling his chest. He pulled his arm from the nurse and finished wrapping the dressing himself.

"Go and find out how my brother's doing, now," he told her. "Or I will."

When the nurse stood her ground, crossing her arms across her chest, Sam got to his feet.

"Fine, I'll have to find him myself, then."

Sam walked out of his treatment room and looked around him. There were 'rooms' up and down in aisles, curtains surrounding them. In one of those beds would be his brother, and Sam was going to intrude on anyone's privacy as much as he wanted until he found Dean. One by one, he marched up and down the emergency room, passing empty beds and pulling the curtains open from other ones. Some of the sights he'd seen he could've lived without, but he'd endure anything

_(Oh my God, how did he get that stuck in there? I don't wanna know!!! Gotta get out of here, I'm gonna go blind!)_

to find his brother.

"Dean?" he called out, not caring who he disturbed or how loud he was. "Dean!"

"Ow, dammit, get off me!" Dean's voice seemed far away, but Sam heard it sure enough and headed to the other side of the ward in the direction it had come from. He felt relieved to hear his brother's voice, but there had been an edge to it that worried him. "Where the hell's my brother?"

Sam wasn't surprised Dean sounded so worried. He'd regained consciousness in the Impala as they pulled outside the hospital, but he wasn't quite with it so Sam doubted he remembered much. He quickened his pace to get to Dean before he worried too much.

"Dean?" Sam pulled the curtain aside and was taken aback to find a large, hairy backside with what must've been the worlds biggest boil in the centre of it and an embarrassed looking nurse examining it.

"It really hurts when I sit down, doc," the man was complaining. "And I haven't been able to take a dump in days coz - hey!"

"I-I'm sorry," Sam stammered. "Wrong room."

Sam hurriedly pulled the curtain closed and reached for the next one. He hesitated.

"Dean?" he called.

"Sam?" Dean answered. Sam could hear sounds of a struggle beyond the curtain and a muffled argument.

"Please, sir, I have to stitch that wound!" came the frustrated statement. Sam pulled the curtain open to find Dean trying to get out of bed and a rather perplexed nurse trying to hold him still. She looked up at Sam as he walked in, pulling the curtain closed. "Are you the brother?"

Sam nodded.

"Right," she sighed, turning back to Dean. "Now you know where he is, you can see he's okay, can I please stitch you up?"

Dean glared at her.

"You okay, Sammy?"

"Peachy," Sam told him. "Now shut up and do as you're told."

Dean sighed and leaned back.

"Just don't leave a scar."

The doctor joined them a moment later and watched as the nurse worked. Finally he turned to Sam and Dean and offered a smile. Usually that smile seemed false somehow, but this doctor seemed different.

"Mr Martin?" he asked. Dean nodded, though the name 'Dean Martin' wasn't lost on him and he made a mental note to have a word with Sam about it. "You have a mild concussion, I'm afraid. Now, ordinarily I wouldn't worry about admitting a patient with a mild concussion but given your other injuries I think it might be worth keeping you for observation."

"Other injuries?" Sam asked, concern lacing his voice. At the doctor's glance, Sam added, "I'm Sam, Dean's brother."

"Oh, of course, you had the burn on your arm," the doctor remembered. "I'm Doctor Draper."

They shook hands.

"So what other injuries are we talking about?" Sam repeated.

"Mostly just some minor cuts and bruises, but Dean has a couple of cracked ribs that are going to hurt later on. Right now he's on some pretty decent pain meds because of the head wound, but when they wear off he's going to be stiff and sore. I'm a bit concerned that he may have a broken hip from the, ah, impact, but I couldn't be sure. It could just be a flaw on the x ray."

"Dude, you broke your hip?" Sam asked, teasing. He could see Dean wasn't feeling great and he wanted to keep things light to make him feel better. Pain meds always screwed with Dean's head and usually made him feel somewhat cranky.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean grumbled, scowling.

"Can you stop scrunching up your face?" the nurse complained.

"Well, you're the one whose poking holes in my head," Dean whinged. "It hurts."

"You wouldn't let me give you a local!"

"And whose fault is that?!" Dean snapped.

"Dean," Sam interrupted, barely controlled laughter in his voice that seemed lost on Dean. "Relax, okay? Let the nurse fix you up and we can get out of here."

Dean seemed to think it over for a minute but finally relented and leaned back against the pillows, relaxing his face so the nurse could work.

"I really don't think you should leave the hospital," Doctor Draper continued. "There's no sign of internal injuries, everything seems pretty minor, but I'm just concerned about a couple of the injuries. Like that arm, that's the main one. It doesn't seem to be broken, but his shoulder was wrenched pretty badly."

"Doc, I gotta be honest with you here, but none of this seems to be a reason to keep Dean in overnight. Is there something going on here that you're not telling me?"

Doctor Draper hesitated.

"Well," he began, his eyes searching Sam's face. "I want to arrange for one of my colleagues to come in and have a look at him, but I can't get him in here until tomorrow morning."

"Why?"

"I want to have him evaluated."

"Evaluated for what?"

"When he was brought in, after you were taken away, he started rambling about some things that have me a little concerned," Doctor Draper admitted. "He was talking about demons and ghosts and something about being in hell. I'm just worried about his state of mind."

Sam was worried, but he forced his expression to one of surprise, understanding and then one of humour.

"Oh, right," Sam chuckled in what he hoped was a light manner. "He did that once when he had a concussion in high school. He fell down the stairs and hit his head, next thing you know he's babbling about goblins and Cinderella or something."

Doctor Draper seemed to relax a bit.

"Look, we lost our dad after a car accident and Dean was pretty upset about it, but things haven't been the same since then. He can't stand hospitals and unless there's a reason I don't want to make him stay here," Sam explained. "He's fine, he was just a bit confused after he hit his head. I'll keep an eye on him at home and if anything changes I'll bring him back, okay?"

"Yeah, okay, but I'll give you some pain meds to take with you in case he needs it, and some antibiotics to make sure he doesn't develop an infection," Doctor Draper said. "Make sure he drinks plenty of water, if he starts vomiting you might want to try those frozen hydro things to keep him hydrated. He needs to have food with his antibiotics, but keep it fairly simple. Nothing too greasy or it might upset his stomach."

"No worries. Well, other than the lack of greasy food. Dean kinda lives on that stuff."

Doctor Draper laughed.

"Make sure he rests, too. Try to limit stress and just keep an eye on him. If anything changes, and I mean _anything,_ I want you to bring him back in."

Sam nodded, but somehow he didn't think Doctor Draper was convinced and a moment later he was sure of that.

"Here's my card," he said, scribbling a number on the back. "If you're worried or anything, you call me okay? Day or night."

"Sure, doc," Sam agreed, taking the card. The truth of the matter was, he was worried about Dean too. He'd been acting oddly for a few days now, preoccupied. Now he was babbling about demons and whatever else, Sam was starting to wonder if there was more going on that he was aware. Not that he thought Dean was actually losing it, just that there was something going on.

By the time Sam turned to his brother, the nurse was fastening a gauze dressing over his head wound and Dean's eyes were closed. Sam had to laugh a little, since he knew that the nurse was definitely the type that Dean would normally have drooled over. Instead, there he was, fast asleep with a small line of drool stretching from the corner of his mouth to the pillow.

"Come on, Dean," he announced gently, pulling Dean gently to sit up as Dean's eyes opened to tiny slits. "Time to go to bed, Sleeping Beauty."

"S'm, f'ny," Dean mumbled. Sam was pretty sure he'd meant to say 'Sam, funny'.

"Yeah, I'm a regular comedian alright," Sam agreed, helping Dean to his feet. Although Sam knew that Dean was suffering the effects of the pain medication, he couldn't help but worry. He had dealt with Dean when he was injured hundreds of times before, but he still hated to see him weakened in any way. Dean was always so strong and capable, nothing seemed to be able to shake him.

"Here's Dean's medication," Doctor Draper told him, holding out a paper bag.

"Thank you," Sam said, taking the bag and leading Dean out of the ward, leaving behind the other patients, the dude with the humungous boil on his butt, and Doctor Draper with another thought. All he could focus on right then was getting Dean back to the motel where it was safe and warm.

That was all that mattered.

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It had been a long night. By the time they'd left the hospital and gotten back to the motel it had already been almost 3 a.m. Dean had been no help in getting inside so Sam had struggled along on his own. He had finally gotten him to bed, worried about hurting him any further as each jolt could have further aggravated his ribs. He'd taken his boots off, covered him up and left Dean to sleep off the effects of the pain meds. He quickly read the direction on the medications the doctor had given him and then pulled the moth eaten chair to sit beside Dean's bed and settled in for the night.

Sam hadn't intended to fall asleep, but it was somehow taken out of his hands as his eyelids insisted on slamming shut almost an hour later. Dean was left snoring softly while Sam was cramped in the chair beside his bed. Sam's was an uneasy sleep, but what was going on inside Dean's mind would have stopped sleeping altogether.

Dean stirred, moaning in his sleep as pain and grief threatened to paralyse him.

Sam slept on.

"_Sam?" Dean called, looking around him. He wasn't sure where he was, but things were familiar. He felt fear tighten in his chest, when there was no answer. "Sammy?"_

_Nothing._

"_SAM!"_

_As his vision cleared and he started to be able to make out shapes, he realised he was in a carpark. Nearby was a dingy bar, the Impala parked behind him. Memories were trying to break through but they were fuzzy and he just couldn't figure it out, couldn't work out what it was his brain was trying to tell him._

"_SAMMY!" Dean shouted, walking into the middle of the road. Everything felt familiar, like he'd been there before. Like he'd lost Sam there before. But where? Where was he?_

"_Sam?" this time it was a whisper that escaped his lips. He could feel himself shaking, fear consuming him. He didn't know what was happening or why, but somehow he was sure that whatever it was it had happened before._

_In that instant, the world shifted around Dean. He thought he was going to pass out again, but no sooner had things shifted than they stabilised. He wasn't in the parking lot anymore, he was in a room. It looked like a hunting cabin, it was full of junk. Deciding he should have a look around, to see if he could work out where he was, Dean tried to move._

_He was trapped. His body wouldn't move, his arms seemed to be held down by something. Looking down, Dean realised he was tied to a chair and suddenly things became a lot clearer._

_A shot rang out. It was close, and suddenly what had started out as fear became paralysing._

"_SAM!" Dean yelled, struggling. "If you've hurt my brother, I swear I'll kill you!"_

_Dean heard laughter._

"_You hear me? I'll kill you!"_

_Too late, Dean realised grief was taking over and he was collapsing in on himself._

"_Sammy," he sobbed, his heart broken in his chest. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"_

_He lifted his head from his little brother's, cradling Sam's body in his arms as he rocked back and forth. Tears slid down his cheeks, grief racked him mercilessly._

_It was over. Sam's life was over, and that meant one thing._

_There was nothing left. Everything was gone. He didn't care about anything else. What else was there? Sam had been his world, his purpose, and without him to hold Dean together he very quickly began to fall apart._

"_Dean?" a voice came from behind him._

"_He's dead," Dean sobbed, looking up into the eyes of Bobby Singer as the older hunter stood before the brothers. One was breathing, one wasn't. "He's dead, I failed."_

"_Yeah," Bobby shook his head. "You did."_

_Dean swallowed as a lump formed in his throat._

"_Your brother relied on you, Dean. How could you let this happen?"_

_Dean broke, shattered inside._

"_What've I done?" Dean whispered, looking down at his brother. Sam's eyes stared up at him, lifeless but accusing. "Oh God, Sammy, I'm so sorry."_

"_Your daddy would've been so ashamed of you."_

Sam awoke with a start, uncertain of what had woken him. Pain shot through his back as the sudden movement hurt the strained muscles that had been forced to fit themselves into a chair that just wasn't designed for someone his size. Everything was forgotten when he saw Dean, and he immediately launched himself out of the chair to get to his brother.

Dean was thrashing around in his bed so violently that he'd managed to knock the lamp to the ground, the sound of it shattering waking Sam. He was groaning in his sleep, fighting something so horrific that Dean had tears streaming down his face.

"_Sammy,"_ he whispered, his voice so sad that it made Sam stop just before he touched his brothers arm. Something in his voice sounded small and broken, and it made Sam's heart skip a beat. Such devastation in Dean's voice was just not normal and he had never seen such pain on his face.

"Dean?" Sam spoke gently so he didn't startle his brother while he was in the grips of a nightmare.

Dean's thrashing stopped and he lay still. He folded in himself as sobs started racking his body.

"What the hell?" Sam wondered loudly, sitting on Dean's bed and reaching out to him. "Dean, wake up. Dean? Dean!"

Dean didn't react. The crying stopped, but it wasn't a relief. The most frightening moment Sam had yet to witness had come as he realised Dean had given up. He had resigned himself to whatever it was tormenting him, and had decided not to fight anymore.

"Dean?" Sam grabbed him harder now, desperate to reach his brother. He was seriously scared, not sure what was going on. This seemed a lot worse than a simple nightmare. "Dean! Come on, man, you're scaring the shit outta me!"

Nothing.

"DEAN!" Sam was shouting now, shaking Dean violently. He didn't even care about Dean's ribs anymore, he just cared about waking him up. "Dean! DEAN!"

Dean's eyes suddenly snapped open, fear evident in them. Sam held him still and gave him a moment to settle into reality, to realise that the dream had passed and he was safe.

"Sam?" Dean gasped, his throat sounding dry and sore.

"Yeah, I'm right here," Sam assured him. He wasn't sure what else to say, other than to let Dean know he wasn't alone. He kept his hand on Dean's forearm, hoping the contact would help him understand where he was. "It's okay, Dean, we're at the motel, everything's okay."

Dean swallowed, glancing around him. He visibly relaxed as he looked around him, finally letting go of whatever residual fear was haunting him when his gaze took in Sam's presence.

"You okay?" he asked finally.

Sam snorted.

"Trust you," he sighed, getting to his feet and moving to the other side of the room. He grabbed up a bottle of water from the table and brought it back to his brother. "You get tossed around by a ghost and you worry more about me than yourself. You know, it's okay to think of you for a change."

"Yeah, whatever Samantha," Dean grumbled, accepting the water and drinking it greedily.

"Whoa, you gotta slow that down or you'll be sick," Sam warned, pulling the bottle away. "You've got a concussion, you know the deal."

Dean reached his hand to his head and felt the bandage, groaning at what few memories he had about the salt and burn.

"You wanna tell me about your dream?" Sam asked. "It looked pretty bad. I-I had a lot of trouble waking you up."

Dean studied Sam's face a minute, hearing the stammer in his voice and realising that Sam had been scared. It wasn't like they hadn't had nightmares before, so he wondered what it was about this particular time that had him so worried.

"I don't remember," Dean lied. Sam would see right through it, he knew that, but he had to try.

"That's crap," Sam argued. "You have to tell me, dude. This is serous."

"What do you mean?"

Sam hesitated.

"The doctor back at the emergency room wanted to keep you in, and it wasn't because you had a concussion," Sam told him after a long pause. "He was worried about… your, um, mental state."

"What mental state?" Dean asked, his voice immediately on edge as his defences peaked.

"Apparently you were rambling on about demons and hell or something, and he was worried that you might be, I don't know, crazy or something."

"Oh."

"You're not crazy, Dean, you know that."

"I know that."

"I'm just saying-"

"Well don't, okay?"

"Dean, come on-"

"Who are you to talk about being crazy? Huh? You've had nightmares, too, you know. Does that mean you're screwed up? Does that mean you have to see a shrink or be stuck in some padded cell?"

"Dean, I'm not saying that. All I'm saying is that if you are having nightmares I might need to know about it in case this guy decides to track us down or something," Sam explained. He saw doubt in Dean's eyes, but there was something else. "Dean, I don't think you're crazy. And, after everything you've been through, I don't blame you for having nightmares. I just want to make sure that, if I'm cornered by the doctor, I can answer his questions."

Dean sighed.

"It was the Benders," he began. Sam sat back in his seat, surprise clear in his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing. It just wasn't what I was expecting, that's all."

"What were you expecting?"

"Dean, you've been to hell and back, literally. I didn't expect the Benders to be the first thing on your mind."

"Well, it was what I saw. Except it was different. I heard the gun shot when they went out there to shoot you, but this time-" Dean broke off and swallowed. He seemed to be struggling to get the words out and reached for the bottle of water again. After he'd gulped down a couple of mouthfuls, he seemed a bit steadier. "This time, you died."

"Oh," Sam said.

"Yeah. And then I wasn't in the Bender's house anymore, I was holding you in my arms when you'd died. I didn't get to you in time and that guy stabbed you, and…" Dean stopped again, swallowing more water and wishing it was whisky. "And Bobby was yelling at me, telling me it was my fault, that I'd failed you, that Dad would've been ashamed of me, that you'd…"

He stopped, glancing at Sam. There was a question in his eyes that Sam realised hadn't been answered since that day, but he wasn't sure what it was. He had a feeling that it was the same question he'd buried deep in his heart ever since Dean had come back from hell.

"That I'd what, Dean?"

"That you'd… hate me. For letting you die."

Sam closed his eyes and let out the breath that he hadn't even realised he'd been holding.

"Dean, that wasn't your fault," Sam told him, opening his eyes again. He wasn't ready for this discussion, wasn't sure he ever would be, but he'd rather talk about this than having to face Dean's answer to his own question. "You did everything you could. You got there, you found me. It was my fault, I should've ended it. I let him live, I turned my back… I should've just killed him when I had the chance. None of that was your fault."

"It's my job to protect you, Sam," Dean snapped, pulling himself out of bed and walking stiffly to the other side of the room as anger flowed through him. "I'm supposed to protect you, to keep you safe, and I failed. I let you die. I let that yellow-eyed bastard take you."

"And if you'd been with me, how would you have stopped him?" Sam asked reasonably. Dean didn't answer and Sam realised he'd never considered that option. "If you'd been with me, he would've killed you just like everyone else. Then what? I would've died anyway! And I wouldn't be here right now, would I? You wouldn't have brought me back. I would've lost you and then I would've died."

"I wouldn't have gone to hell," Dean murmured.

"What?" Sam asked, his heart plummeting to his stomach as the realisation of what Dean had said hit him.

"I know it wasn't my fault," Dean lied. "I just, I don't know. I guess I still feel guilty over it. It's nothing, it's history. You're okay and I'm not in hell, so let's just leave it alone."

"But-"

"Drop it, Sam," Dean snapped. "I'm going to have a shower."

The bathroom door closed loudly behind Dean before Sam even had a chance to respond. Of all the things he'd expected Dean to be dreaming about, none of that had been on his list. Spending months in hell was worse than any of that, surely. Why was it suddenly playing on his mind again?

Something wasn't right. Dean was awake, he had a mild concussion but seemed to be recovering quickly and yet there was something about him that was different. He was short tempered, saying things that Sam was pretty sure he wouldn't normally say, even after spending months in hell.

There was just something about Dean that seemed… wrong.

FOR MUFFY!

Don't forget, before going on ahead, hit the review button and drop me a line! And remember, this is a very special fic for a very special friend, and we're all here to support her, so send her some love and prayers. And if you haven't read her work yet, get on over there and read coz they're awesome!!!


	3. Chapter 3

Dedicated to Muffy Morrigan! Author, friend and inspiration! Don't forget, lotsa hugs to be sent to her table, guys! They get sent to her, I assure you, and her smiles getting brighter!

Beta'd by the ever-patient TraSan. I was hyperactive when I was writing this chapter, so I was worried there'd be all sorts of problems! Couple of minor grammatical errors, a couple of homophones but I think the apostrophes are getting better! LoL

I played after she beta'd, so any left over boo boo's are mine and mine alone!

DEAN

Chapter Three

Dean leaned against the basin, staring at the water as it flowed down the drain. His head was pounding and, if he was going to be really honest, he was starting to feel sick. He didn't want to tell Sam that, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to hide it for long. He just had to hold out long enough for them to get out of town before that doctor decided he really was a nut job and come after him.

Sam had worried him with that little piece of news. They had always had to face the possibility of people thinking they were crazy, but it was something Dean really didn't like the idea of. Sanity was something that he cherished. He understood that there were mental illnesses out there that people couldn't control, that they had to be medicated, and that some people could never lead a normal life and had to be hospitalised.

But that was other people. Not him. No way.

Looking into the mirror, Dean was suddenly struck by his appearance. He was pale, he had dark circles under his eyes and lines of pain etched around his mouth. He had to admit he was sore, incredibly sore. He didn't remember much of the night before or how he got most of his injuries, his brother would have to fill him in on that, but he knew exactly what his injuries were. Or at least where it hurt. The worst was his head, but not far behind were a couple of ribs he was pretty sure were broken and his hip was hurting too.

"_Dude, you broke your hip?"_

Sam's light teasing ran through his head and Dean almost smiled. It was the Winchester way, to make light when things were bad. To try and make the injured party forget about what was happening around them. Dean knew that's what Sam had been doing the night before, but he couldn't push past this feeling that was niggling at him. He was pissed off, and he wasn't entirely sure why.

Rubbing his hip gently, he glanced down to see a dark bruise forming. It was itchy too, so he scratched and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his body. Hissing through his teeth and grabbing onto the basin again, this time for support as his vision wavered before him, Dean wanted to call out for Sam. He wanted to tell him his head hurt and that he was pretty sure he'd broken his hip, but he just couldn't bring himself to tell him.

Sparkles suddenly entered his vision, as if someone was sprinkling fairy dust over him, and he grimaced. Fairy dust! Oh geez, definitely going crazy! Dean shook his head, hoping to clear his mind, but instead he landed himself on his ass in the middle of the bathroom floor and, once again pain shot through his body.

Dean waited for two things to happen: one, for his vision to clear because between the darkness at the edges and the fairy dust, he was starting to get worried. And two, he was waiting for a worried little brother to come banging on the door.

Sam didn't appear.

Dean sighed. He waited another moment before struggling to his knees. Grabbing onto the basin he pulled himself to his feet and waited a moment longer before making use of the facilities and then heading straight back to bed. His plan was to lay down for a minute or two before using Sam's laptop to find another hunt. He didn't care what it was, as long as it got them out of the town where doctors tried to lock up perfectly normal people.

_Okay, so I'm not perfectly normal,_ Dean thought. _Who else has gone to hell? Who else talks to angels? Who else has a freaky-vision-boy brother? Who else…_

_Oh this could go on forever! _Dean snapped to himself.

He glanced around the room, taking in the bag of pills on the table, the broken lamp now cleaned up and sitting in the waste basket, and the so-called comfy chair that used to live on the other side of the room and was now taking up residence beside his bed.

Sam had slept in that chair, sitting by his side all night. Dean felt guilt rush through him as he remembered waking up from nightmares of losing his little brother to find Sam standing over him, concerned and compassionate. He remembered yelling at him, thought about the things he'd said to him, and all after Sam had saved him from the ghost and gotten him to the hospital. And Dean had barely even considered whether Sam was hurt. Whether he-

Sam! He'd had a bandage on his arm! He was hurt! Oh God, Dean closed his eyes, feeling like the worlds worst older brother. He knew Sam had left the motel room, it hadn't gone unnoticed, but he'd felt relieved that he wasn't here. And now he just wanted to see him, to tell him he was sorry, that he felt like shit and that he hadn't meant what he'd said. He wanted to tell Sam how much he was hurting, how much his head was pounding, the fairy dust glittering at the edges of his vision, not quite going away, but he couldn't. He'd hurt Sam so much that he had obviously had to leave, to get away from him and the words he'd said-

"_I wouldn't have gone to hell."_

Dean's own words ran through his head and he felt bile rise in his throat. Sammy had heard him say that, he knew it. He'd seen it in his eyes, the pain those words had caused him. He would never be able to fix that hurt. He'd never be able to take that back. Sam already had to suffer a year of guilt and pain while he tried to get Dean out of it and he hadn't been able to save him. Then he'd had to suffer through his own hell knowing where Dean was and why he was there. How could Dean have said that to him? How could he have put that onto his little brother?

Climbing out of bed, slipping his boots on, Dean headed out the door with one thing on his mind: he had to find Sam.

He had to make this right.

FORMUFFYFORMUFFYFORMUFFYFORMUFFYFORMUFFYFORMUFFYFORMUFFY

Sam sat at the table in the diner, running his fingers around the rim of his coffee cup. He was trying not to think back to the conversation he'd had with Dean, but words kept spilling into his mind. He pushed them aside and glanced up at the clock for the hundredth time since he'd sat down. He didn't want to be away from Dean for too long, but he had to get him some food so he could take his medication and the order seemed to be taking forever. It was quiet in the diner, barely any customers around, and yet Sam's simple order of pancakes with absolutely no embellishments had already taken more than twenty minutes!

He was about to get to his feet to complain when something outside caught his eye. A figure was staggering toward the diner looking confused and glancing around him as if he'd lost something or was trying to remember something. He waved his arm as if annoyed by a bee or something and nearly fell to his knees from the simple movement. Before Sam had even registered who it was, he was out the door and running at full speed.

"Dean!" he called, reaching his brother in record time. Dean didn't seem to have noticed him until Sam grabbed his arms gently to stop him waving them around in case he did fall. "Dean? You okay, man?"

Dean's head and eyes snapped to look at him, surprise clearly evident on his face.

"Sam?" he asked, as if he wasn't sure.

"Yeah, man, it's me. You okay?" Sam asked again. When Dean didn't answer he grew worried. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking f'you," Dean told him. "I'm a shit of a brother."

Dean pouted. Sam would've laughed if he weren't so worried, the look on Dean's face was comical to say the least.

"No you're not," Sam assured him.

"Am too."

"Are not."

"Am too!"

"Are not!"

"AM TOO!"

"Are NO- hold on, am I seriously having this argument with you?" Sam asked himself, shaking his head. Dean was clearly not feeling himself and arguing with him was not going to help matters any. Instead he took his arm and led him the rest of the way to the diner, taking it slow as he realised the simple act of walking was causing Dean pain. "Come on, I've ordered some breakfast."

"Don't wan' br'fast," Dean mumbled, pouting some more. "Shit b'ther."

"Dean," Sam sighed, pulling the heavy door to the diner open and helping Dean inside and pushing him into the booth where his coffee still waited.. "You're not a bad brother. You're MY brother."

"Should get a new one," Dean told him. He smiled, suddenly seeming excited. "I can fix it! That's it! I can get you a new brother! That'll fix it!"

He got to his feet and glanced around the diner.

"Fix what? Dean?" Sam couldn't help it, he chuckled softly to himself. If he didn't know any better he'd think Dean was drunk. He sobered quickly at that thought. Dean clearly wasn't drunk, and so his behaviour had Sam even more worried. "Dean, sit down."

Sam tugged gently on Dean's arm until he sat down again.

"I don't need a new brother, I'm pretty happy with my old one."

"Why?"

"Coz he's my real brother and I think he's pretty cool."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah… but don't tell him, coz otherwise he'll get a big head."

"Oh, will he?" Dean seemed so serious in his question that Sam nearly laughed again.

"Yup, and his ego's almost out of control as it is!" Sam told him, putting his finger to his lips to indicate Dean should stay quiet. "Trust me on this one."

Dean nodded, pressing his lips together.

Sam sighed, happy for the moment that Dean was okay. He was acting strangely but he was here, he was conscious and for the time being Sam was just going to have to sit back and wonder what the hell was going on. This was not normal behaviour for a concussion, not even for Dean with a concussion. He was considering calling the doctor he'd met the night before, remembering the card that was currently tucked in the back pocket of his jeans, but he didn't want to risk it. The doctor was already worried about Dean's mental state and Sam couldn't risk a psychiatrist talking to him, especially not in his current mood. Dean was… giddy! What was he supposed to do with that?

"Sorry the pancakes took so long, darl," the woman with the large, black mole on her upper lip drawled, interrupting Sam's thoughts. He tried not to grimace as he looked up at her. From his position he could see straight up her unusually large nostrils. He desperately wanted to look away, but somehow he couldn't. "That'll be $10.50."

Sam grabbed the bag, dumped the money on the table and made a move to stand, but she didn't show any signs of moving.

"Your brother okay?" she asked, chewing gum loudly as she spoke.

Sam hesitated, uncertain of why she was asking since it was none of her business.

"Coz ya know, we get a lotta crazies round here," she continued. "Ain't never seen none like 'im though."

"Stop it," Dean hissed, glancing over his shoulder.

"Stop what, Dean?" Sam asked him, turning his attention to his brother.

"Sssh!" Dean snapped. "Shut up!"

"Dean?"

"Don't think he's talkin' to ya, darlin'," the waitress told him. "Reckon he's talkin' to someone in 'is head."

"Do you mind moving, miss?" Sam asked her, though it was more of a statement than a question. He didn't even wait for her to move before he was on his feet and pushing her aside. He cringed inwardly as his hand brushed her upper arm and her skin felt flaky. He reached for his brother and pulled Dean to his feet. "Come on, dude. Time to go home."

Dean glanced at him.

"Do they have to come too?" Dean whispered to him, glancing over his shoulder again. "Coz they're not very nice."

Sam looked where Dean indicated but saw nothing.

"No, they don't have to come, they can stay here," Sam assured him, grabbing their breakfast and pulling Dean out of the diner quickly. Panic was starting to take up residence in his chest as his heart raced. This was not right, this was definitely not right. "Dean, do you feel okay?"

Dean nodded at him and grinned.

"Feel great!" he announced, gleefully. "Something seems a bit weird though."

"What's that?"

"There's lots of sparkles."

"Sparkles?"

"You kno-ow," Dean drew the word out as if it was obvious what he was talking about. "The fairy dust!"

"Huh?" Sam stopped in his tracks, staring at Dean. "What are you talking about?"

"It's everywhere! Fairy dust everywhere! Had me worried for a while, but now I think it's just…" Dean screwed up his face in thought, as if trying to decide how to describe it.

"It's what?" Sam asked, his chest tightening.

"Pretty!" Dean announced, throwing his arms out and twirling in the middle of the parking lot.

"Dean, stop that!" Sam told him, grabbing his arm and steadying him. "What is up with you? This isn't normal, this is seriously starting to creep me out!"

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Coz I've seen you drunk before and you haven't been this weird! I think you took a harder knock on the head than I realised," Sam explained worriedly. "I think I might have to take you to the hospital, Dean."

"They think I'm crazy."

"They're not the only ones," Sam muttered, grabbing Dean's arm and quickening their pace as the motel came into view. "I don't know what else to do. This isn't exactly something I've seen before."

Once Sam managed to get Dean into the motel room, he forced him to sit down on the bed and pulled the bandage back from his head. The stitches seemed fine, there was no sign of infection and other than some light shades of blue and purple, it looked a lot better than he'd expected. Sam suddenly wasn't so sure if the head injury was to blame for Dean's current symptoms.

"Are you in pain?" Sam asked him gently. Dean sobered and pouted again, nodding slowly. "Okay. You lie down and I'll get you some medicine, okay?"

Sam pulled open the bag that held their breakfast and fished out a cooled pancake from the confines of the take out box. It was almost rubbery since it had taken so long to get back from the diner, but he didn't care. It would give Dean something simple to chew on while Sam figured out what to do. He palmed Dean's pain meds and the antibiotics and quickly grabbed the bottle of water, and handed everything to Dean. He waited to make sure he'd swallowed the pills before turning and staring around the room, as if the answer was there and it was just waiting for him to see it.

Feeling completely at a loss, Sam pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.

"Bobby? I got a serious problem here."

FOR MUFFY!

Reviews for me, love for Muffy :)


	4. Chapter 4

Dedicated: I'm sure you haven't forgotten this is dedicated to the ever-talented Muffy! Hope you like it hun!

Beta'd by the awesome (and patient) TraSan! When you're sending thoughts and prayers to Muffy, spare a few from TraSan – I'm writing awfully quickly, after all, and the poor thing has to sleep sometime!

I played after she beta'd, so stuff ups are all me!

To reviewers: I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to reply. I'm usually really good about that, but having a 9month around my ankles means that I keep losing the page halfway through a reply, so I have to wait til she goes to bed!

To anonymous reviewers: I do reply to anons, so don't forget to put in your email address, you're not forgotten!

Disclaimer: *sigh* Need I say more?

DEAN

Chapter Four

Sam sat in the 'comfy' chair with his laptop resting on the frayed armrest as he surfed a medical website for information. Dean had nodded off after taking his pain medication some hours ago and, after getting off the phone from Bobby Singer, Sam wasn't sure what else he could do. So he did the one thing he had always been good at: research.

There was definitely something up. He wasn't sure if it was medical or something else, but he had to start somewhere. If it was supernatural, he didn't even know where to start! How could this be caused by something supernatural? It had started with the head injury when that ghost attacked, or at least he thought that's what started it.

How could he be sure?

Sam sighed and glanced at the notepad on the other armrest. He'd listed several symptoms that he could think of, but it was hard to decipher some of Dean's behaviour to determine whether it was a symptom or Dean being, well, Dean.

_Mood swings_

_Giddiness_

_Head injury_

_Fairy Dust??? (whatever that means)  
_

_Possibly hearing voices_

He wondered if he could put 'being thrown across a graveyard into a head stone by a pissed off spirit' down as potential causes along with 'head injury', but he figured that would confuse the search engine, so he ignored it. A groan from Dean's bed made him jump and he glanced at his brother. His eyes were rapidly moving beneath their lids and he'd start sweating and panting as if he were afraid.

Sam added _nightmares _to his list and sat back again, rubbing his eyes. Bobby had already been out the door when Sam told him there was a problem. After telling him where they were, including the motel and their room number, Bobby assured him he'd be there by nightfall. Glancing outside Sam saw that the sun was heading down, but Bobby was yet to arrive. He couldn't wait for the older hunter to arrive because things were complicated enough as it was since Dean had come back from hell, adding this to the list just seemed unfair and he wasn't sure he could handle it on his own.

Glancing back down at the computer screen he saw a list of possibilities, and none of them were particularly fun. Nothing seemed to explain everything on his list, but if he put in just the physical symptoms he came up with anything from allergies to a Black Widow Spider. Putting in the mental symptoms, however, seemed to suggest a stroke or brain tumour.

Nothing seemed to fit. No one thing explained everything Dean was going through. Sam was worried. Seriously worried. They'd faced a lot in their lives, but there always seemed to be a way out of it. Even when the doctors couldn't help them, when they told Sam that Dean was going to die because of the damage done to his heart when he'd been electrocuted, Sam had found a way.

That seemed like a long time ago, however, and the case seemed a lot easier. For starters, Sam had known exactly what was wrong with Dean. He'd had a medical diagnosis, it didn't get much clearer than that! This time? He had no idea.

Dean started shifting in his bed, moaning in his sleep again, crying out as if in pain. Sam had learned that it was almost impossible to wake him up, so he tried to soothe him into a more peaceful sleep. Dean's disturbance this time seemed a lot worse and he started breathing rapidly, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as if trying to hide from whatever he was seeing.

"_Sammy?" _he mumbled, turning his head as if in search of his brother. _"Sam? No! Sammy! NO!"_

Sam put his hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"Dean, it's okay," Sam assured him. "I'm right here, I'm fine. Okay? I'm fine, you don't have to worry about me anymore."

"_No, can't be," _Dean whispered. His face seemed bright with fever, and Sam began to worry about the possibility of infection again. He reached out one hand and touched it to Dean's cheek. It felt warm, but not overly hot, so he wasn't sure why Dean looked so flushed but he had a feeling it wasn't a good sign.

"Dean? Can you hear me?" Sam tried again. "I'm right here, Dean. It's okay."

_"SAM! SAM! NO! SAMMY!!! Take me! Take me instead! Kill me, please, kill me! Sammy, no…"_

Sam sat back in his seat, shock hitting him like a physical assault. Dean was begging someone to kill him – or perhaps to kill him in Sam's place. Either way, Sam didn't like the sound of it. Dean's nightmares seemed to be getting worse and each time Dean fell asleep it seemed harder to wake him up. Sam was certain there was something supernatural going on.

"Dean, come on dude, you gotta wake up," Sam told him sharply, pulling Dean to sit up. Dean still didn't respond, he just hung limply in Sam's arms, still murmuring against whatever horrific thing he was dreaming about this time. "DEAN!"

The door burst open and Bobby was immediately by their side, a tiny bottle of a green liquid Sam had never seen before. Without a word, Bobby pushed Dean back against the pillows, forced his mouth open and poured the liquid straight down his throat. Dean choked, coughing painfully, but he didn't bring anything up and Bobby seemed relieved about that.

"What the hell was that?" Sam asked. There was no heat in his words, he was too relieved to have some help to be pissed off about Bobby forcing Dean to take something that Sam didn't know about.

"I don't know what's up with him, if that's what you're asking," Bobby answered, his voice gruff and to the point. "But this is an old antidote I came across a couple of years back. It helps settle down symptoms like the ones that you were telling me about. It's kind of like a sedative, but instead of forcing the body to relax, it forces the mind to relax so that, hopefully, Dean can come back and help us figure out what happened to him."

Sam nodded, his lips tight as he considered what Bobby was telling him.

"I've been doing some research on the medical side of things, in case there is something natural going on," Sam told him, nodding to the laptop lying forgotten on the chair.

"Anything?"

"Nothing. I mean, unless he's been bitten by a Black Widow Spider or has brain tumours," Sam told him. "None of that seems likely. There is one other thing that I can think of, but I-"

Sam hesitated and it seemed clear that he didn't want to continue.

"Whatever it is, Sam, it can't be that bad," Bobby told him. "It might be the answer, and if it is, maybe we can fix it."

"Not this time."

"What do you mean?"

Sam sighed.

"Bobby, what if… what if Dean came back, you know, wrong?" Sam asked. "I mean, he was in hell for months, who knows how long that was in reality? Who knows what was done to him? We don't know what really happened while he was there, he doesn't really talk about it. What if he's, you know, not Dean anymore?"

"What? Like he's a demon?"

"Well, not necessarily a demon, but different. Maybe whatever he went through has left him traumatised or broken or something… what if-"

"Sam, stop it," Bobby snapped, pushing him to sit on his own bed. "Dean didn't come back wrong, he was brought back by angels for Chr- Pete's sake! He's not a demon! And whatever he's been through we'll deal with, okay? He'll be fine! This has nothing to do with that, nothing to do with-"

"What?" Sam interrupted. "Nothing to do with the torture he went through every second of every day? Nothing to do with the damage done to his soul? How can anyone come back from that and be normal again? How could he just be Dean again? Like it never happened? Torture, as we know it, is one thing… but what Dean suffered is something we'll never be able to imagine! What if he's not okay? What if-"

"S'mmy, m'fn," Dean murmured from the bed.

"Dean?" Sam gasped, leaping to his brother's side in an instant. "You okay? How do you feel? Did you say something? Are you awake?"

"One q'stion at a t'me," Dean muttered, opening his eyes. He looked dazed, his pupils were dilated and Sam was pretty sure he was seeing double – at least.

"Sorry," Sam sighed, gripping Dean's arm. "What did you say?"

"I said I'm f'ne," Dean tried again. "You were w'ried 'bout me fr'm hell, b't I'm f'ne."

"Did you understand a word of that?" Bobby asked, his tone clearly frustrated.

Sam nodded.

"Spend enough time around Dean with a concussion or on morphine, you get to learn Dean Mumble," Sam told him. "He's saying I shouldn't be worried about him from hell. I'm not sure what that means, though."

"Dn't c'me b'ck wng," Dean explained.

"Dean, what?" Sam asked, confused.

"You speak Dean Mumble, huh?" Bobby grouched.

Dean coughed, trying to clear his throat. He forced his eyes open further and looked straight into Sam's. Sam felt an intensity that he hadn't felt from his brother in a long time.

"Still me," Dean whispered. "I'm still me."

Tears filled Sam's eyes instantly and he grabbed Dean up in a tight hug.

"Thank God," Sam whispered into Dean's shoulder. "I couldn't have-"

"I know," Dean told him, returning the hug fiercely. "It's okay, Sammy. I know."

Bobby shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably, trying to give the brothers a moment but, finally he gave up and cleared his throat loudly.

"You may still be you, but still somethin' ain't right with ya," Bobby reminded him as the Winchesters broke apart. "We gotta figure out what's going on, before you go dancing in the street singing about fairy dust again."

Dean grimaced.

"I what?" he asked, horror filling his voice. He glanced at Sam and knew the truth immediately. "Oh God, I didn't."

"Yup, right outside the diner."

"Tell me that no cute waitresses saw me," Dean begged. "Otherwise, whatever this is may as well kill me coz my life just won't be worth living anymore."

"Coz one waitress in one town wouldn't sleep with you? You got plenty of other towns to get laid, you know," Sam told him. "Life goes on."

"Not for me."

Sam sighed. Dean's ego was something to be reckoned with.

"Only one waitress saw you."

"Oh no!" Dean sounded truly horrified.

"But-"

"How could there possibly be a but? She saw me!"

"Yeah, but if you'd seen her…" Sam shuddered. "Trust me, life will go on."

A hint of a smile crept onto Dean's face, but he was clearly feeling weak and exhaustion seemed to be creeping up on him fast.

"You got any idea what's happening?" Bobby asked, the question aimed directly at Dean. Dean seemed to concentrate for a moment, but there was no recollection in his eyes. "Do you remember anything?"

"Going on the salt and burn after the weirdo ghost," Dean answered. "Sick son of a bitch. Other than that, things are pretty vague. I know the ghost got nasty, Sam must have finished him off but I don't know how-"

"Burned the sucker," Sam smiled. He saw pride in his brother's eyes but the look was quickly replaced by concern as Dean glanced at the bandage on Sam's arm. "Yeah, I might have been in the way."

"In the way?" Dean asked.

"Well," Sam swallowed, fingering the bandage nervously. "In the grave."

"What?!" Dean yelled, sitting upright so suddenly he paled, pain written all over his features. He gritted his teeth against it and glared at his brother as his vision swam. "You were in the grave when you set the fire? Sam, what the hell?"

"You were gonna die, Dean. And I couldn't reach my gun, I couldn't even see the ghost. And I couldn't climb out of the grave to get to you, so I did the only thing I could do," Sam defended himself, his voice calm and reasonable. The only thing giving him away was the fear in his eyes that spoke volumes. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but what if you didn't climb out of the grave afterwards? That was dumb luck, Sam. You could've killed yourself!"

"You'd have been alive," Sam replied, getting to his feet and walking out the motel room door.

The door closed quietly behind him, leaving a shocked Dean gaping at Bobby.

"Did you know?" he asked.

Bobby shook his head.

"What the hell's he thinking?" Dean raved, anger flashing through the fear. "He's gonna get himself killed! He do this while I was gone?"

"Pretty much," Bobby answered, keeping his eyes on Dean. "He did what had to be done, Dean. He watched you die once, right in front of him."

"Yeah, same as I watched him die in front of me, did I turn into some kind of reckless maniac?"

"You tell me. You were the one who sold his soul so Sam could live, does that sound reckless? You knew you were going to die, you knew you'd only get one more year. Sam did what he did knowing he had a chance to survive."

"That's not the same thing."

"No, it's not," Bobby agreed. "What Sam did tonight was to save your _life._ What you did? Sam was already dead, Dean. Did you bring him back for you or Sam?"

Dean remained silent. He knew Bobby was right, he'd made the deal for selfish reasons, same as he'd told everyone else who'd made a deal for personal gain or to save a loved one after his father died. He was angry with his father for trading his soul knowing what Dean was going to have to live with, but he did the same thing to Sam.

And Sam had had to live with that, and still did. Every day.

"Go easy on the kid, Dean. You have no idea what he's been through-"

Dean held up one hand, his eyes not even on Bobby anymore. They were trained on the closed door as if he could see straight through it to his brother.

"I know," he whispered. "I know."

FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY

Sam returned to the room almost twenty minutes later. Although he seemed calmer, his eyes were red and a little puffy. Dean knew he'd been crying, but he didn't call him on it. He at least owed Sam his dignity, and he knew that pointing out the tears he didn't want to talk about would embarrass him. He made a mental note, however, to talk to him later when they were alone.

If he made it through the latest hiccup in the road, that was.

Bobby handed Sam a cup of coffee, a silent question in his eyes. Sam nodded at him and, as Dean watched, some sort of understanding seemed to pass between them. Dean realised how much he had missed both Bobby and Sam, but also how different the relationship between the two hunters had become. There seemed to be a mutual respect, a bond, between them that Dean had never seen before. For a moment, anger burned in his chest at his father for not giving Sam the chance to have that relationship with him. He pushed it aside, realising that that relationship was never going to be, and he had to accept that. At least Sam had Bobby.

Bobby sat on Sam's bed as Sam took up his residence in the chair.

"So, tell me about this ghost," Bobby began, suddenly down to business.

"Drug dealer, murder, possibly worse," Sam began. "He was the prime suspect in at least six murders while he was alive, but the police never managed to nail him. He died in a bar brawl with a rival drug dealer. Seemed anti-climactic if you ask me, he got off pretty lightly."

Bobby nodded, glancing at the autopsy photos of the victims.

"This is Marcus Brown," Sam announced as a mug shot appeared on the screen. "I may have done a little illegal hacking to pull this up."

Dean beamed proudly at his little brother, but the look went unnoticed by both Sam and Bobby as they continued to talk about Brown's track record.

"He had a rap sheet as long as my arm," Sam continued. "He started mugging people when he was only about ten. One witness was too scared to testify, but in her statement to police she said there had been something in his eyes that scared her. A ten year old, you'd expect to be able to fend them off, send them home to be grounded by the kids mother, but apparently this kid was different. Now, whether there's anything more to that or not, I don't know. The woman died about two years ago, the day after Brown was killed."

"You think he went after her?"

Sam shrugged.

"Dunno, but it would make sense. She was the only witness I could find most took off and I haven't been able to track them down. Didn't really seem to matter at the time, Brown was obviously here and the victims were dying here, so that's where I focussed," Sam sighed, once again fiddling with his bandage. "I should've kept looking. Maybe there was something more I could've done."

"You did good, Sam," Dean insisted, trying to sit up against the pillows, but failing miserably. "You got the bastard, and you saved my life."

Sam smiled gently.

"Maybe," he replied. "That remains to be seen, don't you think?"

"So, is that it for this guy?" Bobby asked, interrupting before the conversation could get anymore dire. "Or does he have a foot fetish we don't know about?"

Sam shook his head.

"Other than drugs, robberies, and just about any other crime you can think of, that's it," Sam told him. He glanced at Dean. "All I know about him other than that is that his bones are ashes."

Bobby looked to Dean as well.

"The rest is up to you, Dean," he said gruffly. "You gotta try to remember what happened."

Dean thought about it, hard. His head was pounding and his body was growing more painful by the minute. Lying in bed wasn't helping, but he knew he couldn't move. He absently scratched at his hip through the blankets and pain shot through his body with such intensity his body lurched and he nearly fell out of the bed.

"Dean!" Sam caught him and held him gently as pain racked Dean's body. His breathing was ragged and he'd paled even more than Sam had ever thought possible, but still he waited. He could hear Dean's heart racing, feel the heat from his skin burning through his clothes and the immediate threat of infection was once again playing on Sam's mind. He glanced at the clock and saw that Dean was overdue his next dose of antibiotics. "Bobby, get the pills from the table."

Bobby nodded and moved away silently to do as he was told. If he could ever admit how he was feeling at that moment, he wasn't sure he'd be able to find the words. He'd watched the Winchester family go through a lot since he'd met them, but watching both Sam and Dean die, knowing that Dean was paying the ultimate price to save his brother… it tore his heart to shreds. He would've done anything to save both the boys from what they had had to face.

"Here," he said, his voice thick with emotion as he saw the suffering on Dean's face and the concern on Sam's. He cleared his throat and helped Sam settled Dean back against the pillows. His breathing was still shallow as he fought for consciousness, but he seemed to be calming down a little.

Sam helped Dean swallow his pills and then rested his hand against Dean's forehead as if he was checking for a fever. Sam didn't move it, however, just held it gently over the bandage, stroking his thumb over the remaining patch of skin that was undamaged.

"You don't have long before the pain meds kick in, Dean," Sam told him, keeping his voice low and his tone gentle. Dean looked at him, fighting against the pain. He kept his eyes on Sam even as new waves of pain raced through him. "Can you tell us anything? Maybe about what's happened since the ghost attacked you? What do you remember about afterwards?"

"T-telling y-you," Dean gasped, reaching out and gripping Sam's hand. "I-I wouldn't ha-have h-had to g-go to h-hell."

Sam held his breath at hearing that, but didn't comment. Instead he waited. Bobby knew the damage hearing Dean say that would've done, however, even if he didn't know the context of the conversation.

"Y-you left," Dean continued, trying to slow his breathing down. He seemed to be succeeding and his voice grew steadier by the minute. "I fell."

"You fell?"

"In the bathroom," Dean explained. "It hurt and I didn't want to tell you, and it was too much. Everything went dim and that's when the fairy dust started."

"Fairy dust?" Bobby asked, now thoroughly confused.

"Why did you fall? You seemed to be a bit sore when you walked, but other than that you seemed okay. I wouldn't have left if I'd known…"

"I know," Dean assured him. "It wasn't your fault. I was itchy and when I scratched it hurt and that's when I fell."

Sam thought for a moment, watching as Dean fought against the pull of the pain medication.

"Dean?" he asked, squeezing his had gently as Dean's eyes slipped shut. "Do I wanna know where you were itchy, or is that a question better left unanswered?"

"My… hip…" Dean murmured, lips twitching. "Bitch."

Sam chuckled and let Dean fall into a sleep he hoped would be more peaceful than his last.

"Will that stuff help him sleep, Bobby?" Sam asked, not taking his eyes off his brother. "That green stuff, will it stop the nightmares?"

"It should," Bobby answered. "But there's not really any way to know for sure. It kind of depends on the person."

Sam sighed. He hoped his brother would get some rest, but in the meantime he had some work to do. First he was going to do some more research, and then, when Dean had had a chance to rest a while, Sam was going to check his hip. He didn't want to risk disturbing his when he'd just fallen asleep, so he decided it could wait an hour or two.

If only Sam had known what was coming, an hour would have seemed a lot longer and a lot more dangerous.

FOR MUFFY!

AN Bit of a cliffy, perhaps? Hope that the super speedy updates and the brotherly moments might make up for that a little? Maybe?

Love to Muffy!


	5. Chapter 5

Dedicated to Muffy. Not enough hurt!Dean hun? Am I bad or nice? Decided yet? Well, maybe this chapter will help!

Beta'd by the awesome TraSan who took time out of sanity to work on this for me!

I played, as usual. My bad!

DEAN

Chapter Five

Sam scratched his head as he glanced at his brother. Dean was sitting at the table munching on another batch of pancakes and begging for coffee, seeming almost like his usual self. If it weren't for the bandage, the lines of pain around his mouth and eyes and the fact that he kept looking at him strangely, Sam would've questioned why he was so worried.

Dean glanced at him again, and Sam finally realised that he'd seen that look before. It was a look of horror and it had only ever happened once.

Just before the hellhounds came.

"Dean?" Sam interrupted Bobby, who had been asked questions that seemed to be going unanswered. "Are you listening?"

"Huh?" Dean asked, his voice dreamy as if he'd just woken up.

"What was just going on? Right now, what were you listening to?"

Dean looked away.

"Nothing," he grumbled, rubbing his temple.

"Dean, we're trying to help you here," Sam reminded him. "You have to tell us what's going on."

"Nothing's going on, Sam. I'm just sitting eating pancakes," Dean insisted. "I don't know what your problem is."

"My problem? You don't know what my problem is?" Sam asked, his voice rising in frustration and anger. "I'm not the one who's seeing fairy dust, and talking to people who aren't there! I'm not the one who was twirling in the streets yesterday. I'm not-"

"You saying I'm crazy?" Dean demanded, getting to his feet and approaching Sam angrily. "What exactly are you trying to say, Sam?"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about! You've been wanting to pick a fight lately, even before you started hearing the voices. Are you made at me or something?"

"I am now-"

"Dean! Sam! Cut it out!" Bobby barked, pushing them apart. "This isn't helping! We have to figure out what's going on because there are a lot of options here and none of them end well."

Sam sighed.

"I need to figure this out, Dean," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He avoided his brother's gaze, not trusting himself to keep his tears in check if he risked looking at what he could be losing. Again. "Please, just help me figure this out."

Silence filled the room for a long moment before Dean nodded and took his seat again.

"I don't really remember much about yesterday, but I have to admit I feel almost hung over today," he began. Sam and Bobby, satisfied they were finally going to get answers, sat down to pay attention. Sam was back in his chair, Bobby perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, both listening intently. "I remember the sparkles, though. It was weird, and there seemed to be a kind of music that went with them. It was really quiet, but I'm sure it was there."

Sam jotted down some notes.

"Do you remember what happened in the diner?" he asked gently. "You said something about people, that they weren't very nice."

"It started out as whispers, as if someone was sitting behind me and talking to someone else. But they got louder and I don't think they were talking to each other anymore, they seemed to be talking to me," Dean explained. "They were saying stuff that I couldn't understand, but what I did understand was… violent. Murder, fire, blood."

"Do you think they were real?" Bobby asked. He knew someone had to ask, but he didn't think it would be safe for Sam to. That just left him to risk the death glare of Dean Winchester. "Or do you think you're being haunted, maybe?"

Dean shook his head.

"I don't know if they were real or not, but I really don't think they were spirits. I'm pretty sure there's-" he stopped again, his eyes snapping away from Sam as his breath caught in his throat.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"You, your face, it keeps changing," Dean told him. "It's like a corpse or something. I don't know, it just-" Dean clutched his head in his hands tightly. "Geez, it's loud! It hurts!"

"What hurts, Dean? Talk to me!" Sam was kneeling in front of his brother now, pulling Dean's hands away from his head as he starting hitting himself as if desperate to knock something out of his mind. "Dean! Come on, man, talk to me! What's going on?"

"Voices," Dean whispered, leaning forward as if to curl in on himself. "There's people everywhere. They're screaming at me, telling me something. I don't know what, I can't make it out! Sam, it hurts!"

Sam looked at Bobby.

"What do we do?" he asked.

"I have no idea," Bobby admitted. "But I don't think we have much time to figure this out."

FORMUFFYFORMUFFYFORMUFFYFORMUFFY

Dean was sleeping fitfully, having collapsed against Sam not long after the voices had him whimpering, begging them to leave him alone. The problem of how to help him was taken out of Sam and Bobby's hands as they wrestled him back under the covers of his bed as gently as they could, both hunters refusing to admit to each other how worried they really were.

Sam had checked Dean's head wound again, assuring himself that there was still no sign of infection. Dean's skin was flushed again, however, and Sam wondered if this was another symptom and what it really meant. He set about checking on Dean's other injuries, initially to make sure there had been no further damage done but suddenly he realised he was looking for answers.

"Hey Bobby, what if it was something about that ghost?" Sam asked, checking Dean's ribs gently. Dean groaned but didn't wake. "Once the ghost was dead, wouldn't Dean have returned to normal?"

"You thinking that Brown had some kind of mojo?"

"Seems a bit far-fetched, doesn't it?"

"At this point, nothing is far-fetched," Bobby assured him. "Didn't Dean say something about being itchy and when he scratched he nearly passed out? Seems to me that's when things really started."

Sam nodded in agreement, straightening to think back on everything Dean had said.

"He hasn't been acting like himself, that's for sure, but a lot of it can be explained by the fact that he's, you know, been to hell and back. Probably pissed at me too," Sam replied, glancing at his brother thoughtfully. "But the other stuff? The voices, the visual disturbances, that started yesterday I think. And he had nightmares, too."

"The nightmares could be unrelated."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, but he was barely listening as he'd bent over to examine Dean again. This time he wanted to look at his hip, remembering what the doctor had said about Dean's x-ray. Sure enough, there was dark bruising across Dean's hip, suggesting it could have been fractured, but something about it bothered Sam. "Does this look normal to you?"

Bobby joined Sam at Dean's bedside and looked at the bruising. He probed it gently and immediately looked up at Sam.

"There's a lump just in there," Bobby told him. Sam checked. "That's not what I'd expect if he had a broken hip."

"No, it seems to be more in the tissue than the bone."

"It's not deep enough to be the bone."

"You think there's something there?"

Bobby nodded, reaching for the first aid kit.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, grabbing Bobby's wrist before he could open the kit.

"We gotta see what it is, Sam. It doesn't feel like a normal lump, it feels like there's something in there, and if that's what's causing this then we have to get it out," Bobby answered, watching Sam carefully. "I don't know what else we can do right now, but I do know we have to do something."

Sam hesitated and then nodded slowly.

"I'll do it," he stated, taking the kit from Bobby.

"You sure?"

Sam ignored him, opening the kit and pulling out the sterile scalpel. He swabbed Dean's skin, wished he had a local anaesthetic, and made an incision as small as he thought he could get away with. Dean didn't flinch as the knife cut into him, and as much as Sam was relieved he wasn't feeling the pain, he was worried that Dean was in such a deep sleep maybe they were already too late.

Prying the skin apart, Sam tried to see through the blood, but there was too much of it. Bobby reached in with a gauze swab and tried to wipe it away, but more kept flowing from the wound. As Bobby wiped, however, Sam kept looking. He cut slightly deeper, hoping he wouldn't have to go through the muscle, when finally something caught his eye.

"I can see something," Sam announced grimly. He grabbed the tweezers from the kit as Bobby wiped away more blood, and as soon as he saw his opportunity he reached in gently and pulled out the tiny piece of metal, dropping it to the plate Bobby held out for him. Bobby moved away as Sam put pressure on the wound to stop the flow of blood. Although the wound was small, it was deep enough to mean another couple of stitches. Making quick work of it, Sam cleaned he wound, stitched it with three simple knots, and was dressing it carefully when Bobby made a strange noise from the bathroom.

"You're not going to believe this," Bobby told him, reappearing in the doorway. "It's part of a needle."

"A needle? Like what doctors use?"

"Or drug addicts."

"Dean's not a drug addict."

"I know he's not, but ghost boy was, wasn't he?" Bobby reminded him.

"He was a dealer," Sam mused. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He quickly washed his hands before grabbing up the laptop and scrolling through the research about Marcus Brown.

"You think of something?" Bobby asked, curiously. Sam didn't answer and Bobby knew that it was because he hadn't heard him. Sam was in research mode again, and there was just no getting through to him. Bobby sighed and poured himself another cup of coffee, drinking it stone cold and not caring.

Bobby paced for almost an hour before resorting to the television. There was nothing worth watching, especially when Bobby felt completely useless. He was used to Sam researching, but he was used to being in on it. This seemed to be something that he couldn't help with, and all his books sat around him completely forgotten.

"I'm going to get some air," Bobby announced, heading for the door. A grunt was Sam's only reply, but a small voice reached him from the bed.

"Can I come too?" Dean asked from among the blankets.

Sam was on his feet in an instant.

"Dean?" he asked. "You okay?"

Dean tried to disentangle himself from the blankets with little success.

"Tired. Sore. But I need to move," Dean told him, his eyes pleading. "Lying here hurts."

Sam hesitated, not wanting to let Dean out of his sight but knowing that there was something he was missing in his research and he couldn't leave that either. He understood how much lying still when every muscle in your body was aching could hurt, but he was still seriously reluctant to let Dean leave.

"I'll stay with him," Bobby assured Sam. "And we wont be going far. We'll just wander around outside for a few minutes, let Dean stretch a bit and we'll be back in five."

Sam considered this for a minute, but the second he looked down into Dean's pitiful gaze, he knew the decision was out of his control.

"Fine," he sighed. "No twirling in the streets. I mean it!"

Dean rolled his eyes and let Bobby help him out of bed. Bobby handed Dean his jeans and shirt and Sam watched as his brother dressed, his movements painful and slow. Dean hissed as he reached to put his shoes on and Sam hurried to kneel before him.

"I'll do it," he told Dean gently. He remembered Dean helping him with his shoes when he was young and knew how strange it would seem for things to be the other way around. He felt a new respect for everything Dean had done for him, how he had raised him.

Dean caught his brother's eye and saw concern and sadness there. Concern he understood, but he wasn't sure where the sadness was coming from.

"Ready?" Bobby interrupted his thoughts.

As Dean and Bobby left Sam wanted to go with them. He trusted Bobby with his life, with Dean's life, but there was something about what was going on that worried him more than any of that. Something was coming, something was happening to Dean and he had a feeling that it was going to get worse.

Removing the needle didn't allay any of his fears, he wasn't pretty sure that hadn't been the solution. It wasn't over.

A commotion outside less than five minutes later proved Sam's point and had him racing out the door, all research forgotten in his urgency to get to his brother. Sam could've sworn things couldn't have gotten any worse than they already were, but he was fast realising that he had seriously underestimating how much the universe hated the Winchesters.

"Dean!" he yelled when he saw his brother on his knees, sobbing loudly with his head bent. Bobby was standing nearby, confused and uncomfortable. Sam continued to run, crossing the parking lot quickly. "What the hell happened?"

"I have no idea. He started yelling for you and ran over here, fell to his knees and just, well, you know," Bobby nodded toward Dean as he continued to sob. "I haven't seen him like this since-"

"Since when?" Sam asked.

"Well, since you died."

"Oh," Sam looked down at Dean. They never really talked about Sam's death anymore, no one wanting to remember what had happened and what Dean had done as a result. He reached down to Dean and took hold of his uninjured arm and helped him to his feet awkwardly, Dean being completely unhelpful. "Come on, Dean. Let's get you in-"

Dean's fist connected with Sam's jaw so fast and hard that it knocked him off his feet, catching him completely off guard.

"What the hell!" Bobby shouted, trying to reach Sam before Dean could lay into him further. Dean kicked Sam hard in the ribs twice before Bobby could stop him, and as Bobby reached out for him Dean threw his arm back, his elbow connecting with Bobby's nose with a sickening crack.

Dean dropped beside Sam and rolled him onto his back, pinning him to the ground as he punched him in the face again and again.

"Dean, stop!" Bobby yelled, trying to clear his vision enough to help Sam.

"He killed my brother!" Dean yelled, venom in his voice. "He killed Sam!"

"He IS your brother!" Bobby shouted back, crawling over to them as fast as he could, blood dripping from his nose. He grabbed Dean and pulled him back. "It's Sam, Dean. That's Sam."

"He just looks like Sam, but he's not. He's the demon, the bastard killed Sammy!" Dean told Bobby seriously. He pulled away from him again and launched himself back toward Sam, his hands around his throat. "YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!"

Bobby stumbled to his feet, caught Dean's fist before he could hit Sam again and threw him off balance so he sprawled onto the ground away from Sam. The strength Dean had then was frightening, unnatural.

Dean lay still on the ground.

Bobby turned his attention to Sam. Blood was pouring from a gash on the side of his face, bruises already forming and a nasty looking split lip made Bobby wince in sympathy.

"Come on kid, wake up," Bobby pleaded with him, checking Sam's pulse.

"Dea?" Sam mumbled through already swelling lips. "S'ok?"

Bobby nodded before realising Sam's eyes were still closed, one of them already swollen shut.

"He's hallucinating or something," Bobby told him. He glanced over to where he had left Dean. "Aw shit!"

Sam opened his good eye and raised his head.

"Wha?"

"He's gone," Bobby announced, getting to his feet and glancing around him, Sam following suit and swaying beside him.

"Dean!" Sam shouted when he spotted his brother limping to the side of the road. Traffic wasn't especially busy, but there was a steady stream of cars driving passed. Dean, without looking, headed right into the middle of the road. Sam ran. "Dean! STOP!"

Bobby looked further up the road to see a truck bearing down on Dean, right in the path of where Sam was running half blind and fully panicked, to save his brother.

"Sam!" Bobby yelled, already halfway there. He was too late, the truck passing as Sam reached Dean. He didn't see what happened next but was already dialling 911 before the traffic cleared.

Sam was slowly picking himself up from the blacktop, hurt but clearly conscious.

Dean, several feet further up the road, was unmoving.

FOR MUFFY!

Talk about a cliffie!!!


	6. Chapter 6

Dedication: For Muffy! That's become somewhat of a 'war cry' through this fic and from a lot of you who have reviewed. Right on, I say! FOR MUFFY!

A/N – For those who've been asking after how Muffy's feeling, she does seem to be feeling a bit better. I've heard some smiles in her emails and especially in her reviews. I forward on any messages of support to her, so keep them coming and cheer her on! Don't forget, you can always send her some personal encouragement. Since she's one of my FAVOURITE authors, she's listed on my favourite authors list. Go there! Coz if you haven't read her stuff, you gotta! You really gotta! She's extraordinarily talented!

Beta'd by the ever patient TraSan. Special thanks to you, hun, for being so incredible about everything – especially those pesky apostrophes! Oh, and thanks for letting me keep my U's LoL I am aussie, after all, and just cant stand the thought of losing my U's!

I played, as usual! Any spelling, grammar or whatever mistakes just laugh at me and say "Bad Jen!" Then keep reading **grins** Love to all and thanks so much for your reviews and all your support to me, Muffy and to the exhausted TraSan! Poor thing, trying to keep up with me! LoL

Ahhh, rambling again! Sheesh!

DEAN

Chapter Six

Bobby sat in the uncomfortable chair besides Sam's hospital bed, waiting impatiently for him to wake up. Things were bad. Crossing the beams bad, Bobby thought as he chuckled. Dean always liked that saying and, for some reason it had made Sam laugh when he was young. Especially if the older boy had done something wrong and they expected trouble from John. Dean would whisper to Sam conspiratorially, "This is bad, Sammy. Crossing the beams bad." Sam would giggle and they would spend the rest of the day whispering as if everything was top secret, including Sam's desire for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch.

Sam had enjoyed being in on the secret for a change, quickly growing tired when he realised the 'grown ups' were talking about something he wasn't a part of.

The most important person in Sam's life had always been Dean. He had been his hero, his protector, his big brother and his best friend. Sam, as much as Dean hated to admit it, had always tried to protect him too and sometimes he got in trouble for that. Today was the perfect example of that as Sam, barely feeling the beating that Dean had given him, had raced in front of a truck to tackle Dean out of its path. As a result, Dean had been hit by a car instead and Sam had taken a hit to his side, knocking him a few feet before he hit his head against the road. He'd barely landed and Bobby had barely moved before Sam was on his knees and was crawling toward his brother, a trail of blood from the gash on his head following him.

Sam hadn't made it to Dean's side. Dean had been thrown further by the impact, copping it almost head on with the car. Sam had managed to reach Dean's feet, reaching his hand out to touch Dean's boots. Well, one of them anyway, the other had been thrown and Bobby wasn't too sure where it had landed. Finding it hadn't exactly been high on his list of priorities. As if the contact with Dean was responsible, Sam had collapsed, loss of blood and a concussion among the list of injuries that plagued him.

Dean was another matter. Bobby was still waiting to hear about his condition. Dean had been whisked in a completely different direction to Sam, and Bobby hadn't been able to following both of them. He'd tried to find out about Dean, but all he'd been told was that Dean was in surgery for internal injuries and there was no news yet on how the surgery was going.

Bobby sighed. He hated waiting. He didn't know any hunter that was patient when it came to waiting in a hospital. Waiting for dark to fall so they could dig a grave unnoticed wasn't a problem. Or waiting in ambush for the monster of the week, no drama. But sitting in a waiting room, or in an uncomfortable chair in a hospital room, was torture of the worst kind.

Especially when a fellow hunter had been hurt.

For Bobby, the worst was when it was a Winchester. In spite of the argument he'd had with John years ago they'd been reunited before John's death, Bobby had jumped in to help without a second thought. His concern had mostly been for the boys, it always had been, but he'd cried real tears over John Winchester's death. Hidden tears, in the privacy of his bedroom, but tears nonetheless.

Bobby had watched as Sam and Dean stood vigil over their father's burning body. Dean had been frozen, bitter and angry. Sam had been destroyed, hurt and though he reached out to his brother he had been left standing alone. Bobby's heart broke and he promised himself he would do anything he could to stop them from hurting again.

A low murmur drew his attention from his thoughts back to Sam's bed and saw eyelids fluttering open.

"Sam?" he asked, leaning forward eagerly. "You with me?"

Sam licked his dry lips and swallowed, turning his head slightly toward the sound of Bobby's voice.

"Bobby?" he asked, trying to pry his eyes open. His left eye was still swollen shut and the other was blurred from concussion and exhaustion. "What happened? Where's Dean?"

Bobby sighed.

"He's in surgery, Sam," he told him bluntly, not bothering to try and hide the truth. "Do you remember what happened?"

Sam didn't answer, his one good eye slipping shut again as unconsciousness claimed him. Bobby sat back in his seat, scrubbing his hands over his face tiredly, shifting his baseball cap on top of his head. He was in for a long night and he just wasn't sure he could stand it.

_I'm getting too old for this shit_, Bobby thought to himself. Looking at Sam Winchester again, lying vulnerable on the hospital bed before him, looking so young in spite of the bruises that covered his face, he knew he had no choice.

His choices were taken away the day he met the Winchester brothers so many years ago and he knew he'd do whatever it took to keep them safe. He couldn't help but feel like a failure in that regard and promised himself things were going to change.

FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY

It wasn't until mid-morning when Sam woke again, this time consciousness wasn't a battle and he was able to see more clearly. He glanced around the room, looking for his brother but knowing he wouldn't find him there. Dean had been hurt, that much he remembered. He just prayed he was still alive.

Looking to the other side of the bed, he saw Bobby sitting awkwardly in the plastic chair, his head tilted back at an awkward angle as a strangled snore tore its way out of his throat.

_How'd I sleep through that?_ Sam wondered. He opened his mouth to try and speak, to get Bobby's attention, but his throat was dry and sore and nothing came out. He reached to the cup of water he could see on the table beside his bed, but his hands were unsteady and unable to keep hold of the cup. It clattered to the floor, waking Bobby instantly. Sam winced when he saw the pain in Bobby's eyes as the stiffness in his neck was realised.

"Sam!" Bobby gasped, getting to his feet, grabbing the cup up and pouring some water into it. He held it to Sam's lips gently, helping him to drink a little before taking the cup away. "How you feeling?"

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked, ignoring Bobby's question.

"The nurse just came in to say he was out of surgery and was being taken to recovery about an hour or two ago," Bobby told him. "The doctor should be by in a little while to tell me what's going on."

Sam nodded.

"How bad is it?" he asked, his eyes staring so deeply into Bobby's that there was no way Bobby could get away with any half-truths.

"You have a concussion and a couple of cracked ribs," Bobby told him. "A stack of bruises ala Dean, and a broken cheek bone."

Sam rolled his one good eye, not caring about his own condition and trying desperately to hold onto his patience while Bobby got around to Dean's injuries.

"I don't know about Dean," Bobby told him, honestly. "He had some internal injuries, that much was obvious. How bad or what new injuries he might have, I just don't know."

Before Bobby could continue, the door opened and a doctor walked into the room. Sam tried to get a look at him but with only one good eye he had difficulty seeing properly. It had nothing to do with the tears of concern that were threatening his vision, he'd argue that in a court of law.

"You're awake I see," came a familiar voice. "Do you remember me?"

Sam hesitated, still unable to see the doctor well enough to make a clear identification.

"Doctor Draper, remember?" he prompted Sam gently. "I was here the other day when you came in with your brother."

Sam nodded.

"I remember," Sam croaked, his throat growing sore again. He desperately wanted more water but was unwilling to delay the doctor's news a single second. Doctor Draper, seeming to understand Sam's predicament, crossed the room quickly and held the cup of water to Sam's lips.

"Dean came through the surgery well," Doctor Draper assured him, not waiting to deliver the news. "He had some internal injuries and I'm pretty confident we stopped all the bleeding. I removed his appendix while I was there, it was inflamed and I was concerned that we could end up with a case of appendicitis on top of everything else."

"Will that slow his recovery?" Sam asked.

"No. He's recovering from so many injuries now that this isn't going to really matter," Doctor Draper replaced the cup and sat on the edge of the bed. Sam shifted slightly, uncomfortable at the position usually reserved for someone more familiar than a doctor he had only met once, but didn't say anything. "Considering the injuries he already had, he's actually come out of the accident pretty well. I'm a bit concerned about his head injuries, there seems to be some swelling there but there's no fracture which is the best news we could have asked for."

"What do you do about the swelling?"

"Hopefully we won't have to do anything. He could come out of this on his own as the swelling goes down, or we could go in and relieve the pressure ourselves. Hopefully that won't be necessary because it is a procedure that carries some obvious risks." Doctor Draper hesitated, seeming to consider his next statement before continuing. "As for you, you don't need a medical degree to know that your injuries didn't all come from being clipped by that car."

Sam clenched his jaw, not answering.

"Did your brother do that to you?" he nodded to Sam's bruises. Bobby stayed deliberately silent in the background, but he could see that the doctor had something on his mind that he was pretty sure Sam wasn't going to like. Doctor Draper obviously sensed the hostility the youngest Winchester was sending out too because he held up a hand in surrender. "I'm only asking because we need to know if he has any violent tendencies before we can place him in a ward. I have to consider the other patients, the need for security, and if he assaulted you-"

"He didn't," Sam answered, his voice strained as he tried his best to glare at the doctor.

"You don't have to cover for him."

"I'm not. He didn't do this. He was protecting me. I was mugged. He saved me and chased them away but he ran into the street," Sam lied, scowling through the bruises. "And if you're worried about what room to put him in, just put him in here."

Doctor Draper hesitated. Something was obviously different about these brothers, he just wasn't sure what it was and whether it was a good thing. Should he be protecting Sam from Dean, or was it the other way around? Or was there a completely different threat that he wasn't even aware of?

"Look, doc," Bobby stepped in as he recognised the anger in Sam's eyes and knew there was about to be an explosion that wasn't going to help anyway. "I know you're trying to do the right thing here, but believe me when I say that the right thing is to keep the boys together. They've been through a lot and your lot will have a much easier time treating them if you're not chasing them around while they're protecting each other."

Doctor Draper sighed and got to his feet.

"Well Dean's being transferred out of recovery as we speak," he announced. "I'll instruct that he be brought to this room."

Reluctantly the doctor left the room, letting the door close crisply behind him.

"Thanks," Sam muttered, aiming the comment to Bobby although he didn't look at him.

"No worries," Bobby muttered back gruffly. He sat in his seat again and looked carefully at Sam. "You know, we're going to have to figure something out if he goes nuts again. We can't let him beat up random doctors."

"I'd be more worried about random nurses, this is Dean remember?" Sam tried to come across as joking, but the tone was lost and his face didn't lend itself to humour anyway. Things were bleak and he couldn't hide from that anymore. They were in the one place that was going to make it even harder to help Dean, and now…

Well, now it might not matter if they figured out what was happening, Dean could die anyway.

FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY

When Dean's hospital bed was wheeled into the room and positioned by the window, Sam was taken back by his appearance. One side of his face was severely bruised, gravel rash showing through in a weeping mess that had some kind of clear gel over it. Sam figured that it was designed to keep the skin moist so it didn't tear if Dean woke up and it seemed like a good idea to Sam.

Beyond the mixture of blues and purples was a grey that spread across the rest of Dean's face. He was so pale that, if it weren't for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Sam would've sworn he was-

"Shut up," Sam hissed harshly.

"Sam?" Bobby asked, tearing his eyes away from the unconscious Winchester. The room had been completely silent until Sam had spoken and the interruption seemed eerie to say the least. Was Sam starting to lose his mind too? Was that what had happened to Dean? Had he lost his mind? Bobby didn't think so, he thought there was more going on here than insanity.

"We have to figure out what to do next," Sam announced, his voice all business in spite of the constant bleeping of Dean's heart monitor. "Dean's going to wake up soon and if we can figure this out before then, he won't have anymore hallucinations."

"Is that why you didn't fight back?" Bobby asked, watching the younger hunter closely. He could see that Sam wasn't going to give him an answer, so he moved on. "So we have hallucinations, visual disturbances-"

"The 'fairy dust', as Dean called it," Sam nodded. "Voices. If we ignore everything else, what are we left with?"

"A really bad trip," Bobby joked, no humour in his voice. He looked up at Sam as if something had only just occurred to him. "You did say that guy was a drug dealer and he dealt mostly in hallucinogens."

"And we found a needle in his hip," Sam agreed.

"Why would he be able to drug Dean? He was a ghost for crying out loud!"

"Same reason Ellicott was able to use electricity to make me shoot Dean with rock salt," Sam answered, thoughtfully. "Ellicott's weapon of choice was electro-shock, and in death he was able to use that to carry on with his… treatments. What if this is the same thing? What if this guy dealt in hallucinogenic drugs so he was able to use that on Dean to try and drive him to kill himself? Or to kill someone else?"

"That's not the pattern though, is it?"

"Well no, but no one else has survived the attacks," Sam pointed out. "He probably never had a chance to do this before. Maybe he didn't even know he could, who knows? The point is, he can't do it anymore."

"And how does this help Dean?" Bobby asked, clearly frustrated.

Sam glanced over at his brother and sighed.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Drugs were never really my area of expertise. I thought that drugs wore off, but this is just getting worse. It's like it's gotten inside him somehow and…"

Sam trailed off, closing his one good eye and resting his head back against his pillows, shaking.

Bobby waited.

"I don't know how to help him, Bobby," Sam whispered. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

FOR MUFFY!

Reviews are like chocolate! Send me a Muffy some chocolate! I know I could use some :) Ooooh.... chocolate! hmmmmmm.... What was I saying?


	7. Chapter 7

Dedicated: FOR MUFFY!

Special mention: to all the wonderful people who have reviewed or sent me PMs. The support you've shown me - and Muffy - has been really touching and this chapter has been posted early as a special thank you! Read it before you say 'your welcome', coz you might hate me soon! lol

This chapter is un-beta'd, so please forgive any errors. I have done this for two reasons: one, to give TraSan a break and hope that she still loves me! :) And secondly, coz I wanted to post it straight away so you all have an extra chapter for the day - especially since I know Muffy's sneaking extra computer time :) Oh, and thirdly, because this chapter is a little bit special and refused to go unwritten! lol

DEAN

Chapter Seven

Dean turned the volume up on the stereo, chuckling when Sam startled awake and glared at him from droopy eyes. There was no heat in the look, just a bit of frustration and then acceptance as Dean's younger brother shifted in his seat to get more comfortable. Soon Sam was singing along with the music, Dean joining in loudly as he was caught up in the moment. It wasn't often that the brothers were able to relax and just enjoy themselves without looking over their shoulder, but this was one of them.

They stopped for lunch but instead of going to the usual diner, Dean found a bar that had a lunch menu written on a sign out the front that had him cringing. _Salad! They actually thought that a salad was a selling point? Who the hell are these people?_ Dean thought, mentally rolling his eyes. Wondering what Sam would think of the crab salad they seemed so proud of, Dean parked out the front of the bar and ignored Sam's questioning glance.

He whacked Sam lightly on the shoulder.

"Hungry, little brother?" he asked, already climbing out of the car. His tone was casual, as if nothing was different but Sam was looking at him like he had two heads. Dean ignored him and walked through the door, leaving his brother to follow along behind. They approached the bar and Dean nodded at the bar tender as he glanced up from the crossword that he was clearly not very good at. "One lunch special and one of the largest, greasiest burgers you can possibly make."

"Coming right up," the bar tender assured him.

"Oh, and a side of fries and two beers," Dean added.

"Dean?" Sam asked, clearly confused. "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean? You gotta eat."

Sam shook his head.

"Hey dude, look! A pool table!" Dean sounded so excited, but when he saw the look on his little brother's face he was taken aback. "What's wrong?"

"There's no one else in the bar, Dean."

"So?"

"Who you gonna hustle?"

Dean's heart sank a little as he realised what Sam was asking, but he ignored the feeling and headed for the table anyway, quickly racking up the balls.

"What? You not up to the challenge?"

"You want to play me?"

"Why not? Aren't I allowed to play pool with my kid brother?"

"Dean."

"What Sam?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is no- Sam, cut it out! What's your problem?" Dean snapped, frustration and anger flashing in his eyes. "What's so wrong with me wanting to play pool with my kid brother? Why is this such an issue?"

"We haven't played pool in years."

"So?"

Sam shrugged and finally approached the table and took the cue from his brother. He seemed to consider something for a moment, his brow furrowed but he sighed and turned to the table, lining up the break and snapping the cue against the ball loudly. Balls spread across the table and two sank in opposite corners.

"Haven't lost your touch, Sammy," Dean grinned proudly, watching as Sam lined up his next shot.

"Had to pay my way somehow at Stanford," Sam muttered before pulling the cue back and sending the ball across the table again.

"You telling me you hustled pool? You always hated that."

Sam straightened and looked at Dean carefully.

"Only did it once," Sam told him, looking away. "Paid for a months rent and bought some food. Wasn't worth it."

Dean raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Cost more than it made," Sam answered, indicating that Dean should take his shot. The conversation was obviously over, or so Dean thought, but a moment later Sam continued. "Ended up spending two weeks in the ICU before I was even able to buy the food."

"What?" Dean gasped, staring in disbelief at Sam as he looked up from his shot. "What happened?"

"The guys I hustled took offence. They didn't want their money back, they just wanted to make me pay," Sam told him grimly. "It was nothing."

"Nothing? You don't spend two weeks in the ICU for nothing, Sammy."

Sam shrugged.

"What did they do?" Dean pushed. Sam raised his shirt and turned his back. What Dean saw made his stomach churn painfully. "Sam… oh my God…"

"It was nothing," Sam repeated. The bartender arrived with their food and Sam sat down, studying his plate seriously, as if there were answers mixed in with the salad.

"Sam…" Dean watched his brother, shaking his head. He hadn't moved yet, was seriously unsure if his legs would hold him up if he tried. "Why didn't anyone call us?"

Now, however, the conversation really was over. Dean finally took the seat across from his brother, but suddenly the greasy burger before him made his stomach hurt even more.

The conversation turned suddenly, as if Sam had never said anything. As they laughed and joked in a way they hadn't done for such a long time Dean couldn't remember, he started to wonder if they had, in fact, had that conversation. Had Sam really spent two weeks in the ICU?

"Dean?" Sam asked, clicking his fingers in front of his eyes. Dean looked up to find Sam was no longer sitting across from him. He was standing beside the table. "We going or what?"

"Huh?"

"You okay?" Sam narrowed his eyes as he studied Dean's face.

Dean nodded, forcing a smile onto his face and getting to his feet.

"Totally," Dean assured him. He turned to drop some money onto the table but saw Sam had already taken care of it. The remains of Dean's burger was sitting on the plate, the bread having been used to mop up the remaining sauce. Dean hesitated for a minute, wondering if he should be concerned about the fact that he couldn't remember eating it.

"Dean!" Sam called. He was standing at the door now, holding it open. "What's up with you?"

Dean shook his head and headed for the door. By the time he reached it, it had closed and Sam was already leaning against the Impala.

"Something really strange is going on," Dean told him, walking across the parking lot.

"Like what?"

Dean stood before his younger brother and looked into his eyes. At first he saw only Sam, the usual emo look in his eyes but suddenly it was there. Darkness. Black flashed through Sam's eyes. Dean jumped away from him so suddenly that he fell to the ground, shock forcing a cry from his lips.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, rushing to his side and reaching down to him. Dean shrank away from him, fear evident in his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Who are you?" Dean demanded, scrambling away from Sam and getting to his feet and pulling his gun, trying to recover from his shock. "Who the HELL are you?!"

"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam asked again, nothing but concern in his eyes again.

"You're not my brother," Dean hissed, disgusted. "You're not Sam!"

Sam flinched, hurt.

"Dean, it's me," he tried to tell him. "It's just me, dude."

"Liar! You're a demon! You bastard, I'm gonna kill you!" Dean yelled, flicking the safety off and stepping toward Sam. "Get out of my brother, you son-of-a-bitch, or I swear I'll kill you!"

Sam didn't step backwards, he just held his hands up helplessly, his eyes pleading with his brother.

"Dean," he spoke quietly. "You're not going to kill me."

"Shut UP!" Dean yelled, pushing Sam against the Impala now, his head hitting the roof sharp enough to bounce a little. "Is it Meg again? Or are you some other slimy bastard we've sent to hell?"

"Dean, stop it," Sam gasped, pain lacing his voice as Dean pressed his forearm against Sam's throat. "It's me, Dean. I swear!"

Dean pressed the gun to Sam's temple.

"Dean, please! Look at me, look into my eyes! You've gotta believe me! I'm just me!" Sam pleaded reaching his hand up to hold Dean's wrist gently. He didn't struggle, didn't attempt to fight Dean off, just looked deep into his eyes. "Dean, you know me better than anyone. You'd know if I was possessed."

"I didn't know," Dean muttered, regret mixed among the other emotions in his voice. "How am I supposed to know now?"

"Look," Sam told him, breathlessly.

Dean looked at Sam, waiting for his eyes to change again, waiting for something to tell him what to do. He was scared. He'd never felt such fear in his life. Sam's eyes didn't change, they just pleaded with him to believe him – to believe _in _him. They were the soft, gentle eyes that Dean had always known, full of compassion. Sam had always seemed to carry the pain of the world around with him. He loved easily, wanted to help everyone, wanted to have a normal life and a family. All of that was reflected with the eyes looking out at Dean now, with it was a new emotion that Dean had seen numerous times before and was pained now to have caused it once again.

Pain. The pain of knowing that his family, especially the only family he had left, could believe he was evil. Sam viewed that as a lack of trust, a lack of faith, and Dean hated himself for it.

How could he believe…?

"Dude, look out!" Sam yelled, reaching for the steering wheel of the Impala and trying to correct its direction.

Dean gasped, held tighter to the wheel and directed it back onto the correct side of the lane just in time to avoid hitting another car.

"Sorry," Dean mumbled, frowning.

"You okay?" Sam asked. "The truth this time."

Dean hesitated.

"I think something's wrong, Sammy," he admitted. He glanced at Sam quickly, not trusting himself to take his eyes off the road for too long. "I've been losing time."

Sam blinked.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We were just standing at the Impala, just now. I thought you were possessed, remember? I had my gun on you and everything…" Dean explained quickly. "And now, suddenly, I'm here. About to drive into oncoming traffic."

Sam studied him carefully. There was something in his eyes that Dean didn't understand, but then he realised what it was. Sam was hurt, upset that Dean would believe he was possessed and Dean bringing it up again just made it worse.

"Did I say I was sorry for that?" Dean asked softly.

"For what?" Sam asked again.

"For thinking you were possessed. For throwing you up against the car, holding a gun to your head. Kind of deserves an apology don't you think?"

Sam nodded.

"Sure," he agreed slowly. "But Dean, you don't owe me an apology."

"Why not?"

"Coz that never happened."

"Huh?"

"You never threw me up against the car. We've been driving for the last four hours."

"No we haven't, we just stopped at the bar for lunch. We played pool, remember?" Dean was getting anxious. "You told me about the time you hustled pool in Stanford to pay your rent and buy food, how you ended up in the ICU."

"I never hustled pool at Stanford, Dean. And what are you talking about? I never ended up in the ICU," Sam denied, looking more concerned than Dean had ever seen him. "The worst I ever got while I was at Stanford was a cold."

"No, you showed me the scar! On your back, they stabbed you… I saw the scar, Sam!" Dean was beginning to panic now. "Sam! I saw it! You told me what happened."

Sam hesitated.

"I think we should stop at the next clinic and get you checked out," Sam suggested. "And maybe I should drive."

"No! Dammit, Sam, you told me!" Dean yelled, staring at his little brother now as panic filled his chest completely. He was having trouble breathing. "It HAPPENED! I know it did!"

"Dean…"

"No! I'm not going crazy!" Dean was shouting, his voice breaking with the strain. "It happened! It did! You-"

"DEAN!"

Dean looked down at the bed before him, the sheet white and clean. Someone was talking to him, asking him questions but he couldn't understand what they were saying. His heart was filled with dread, his throat dry. There was a lump so large and so painful he didn't think he'd ever speak again, didn't believe he'd ever be able to breathe properly again.

"Sir?"

A man stepped into Dean's vision and stared at him sympathetically.

"I'm sorry to have to ask you this," he was saying. Dean saw in his eyes that he really was sorry, but he didn't care. The man pulled the sheet back slowly, watching as Dean's eyes returned to the bed before him. "Is this your brother?"

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Sam was lying before him, his skin grey. His eyes were shut as if he were sleeping, but his chest didn't rise and fall in the gentle rhythm it should have had. There was a large bruise down one side of Sam's face, the skin pulled back in a tear. Dean could still see shards of glass through Sam's hair from the impact with the windshield and he reached out his hand shakily and combed his fingers through it to get it out.

Sam's skin was so cold Dean flinched, but he forced his hand to continue stroking his hair. Sam would be scared, he knew that. He needed to know he wasn't alone, that Dean was there for him. He needed to know that everything would be okay.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean told him, his voice barely above a whisper. "We've been through worse. I brought you back once, I can do it again."

_But the crossroads demon, I killed it. Remember? _Sam's voice whispered in his head. Dean closed his eyes, trying to ignore the truth. _You can't save me, Dean. You have to let me go._

"Not going to happen, Sammy," Dean told him, looking down at him again. "You're dying is not an option."

_But it is, Dean._

"Not it's not."

_It is._

"Is not!"

_It is!_

"NO IT'S NOT!" Dean yelled, shaking his brother by the shoulders now. Tears slipping unnoticed down his cheeks as painful sobs were dragged from his body. "You can't die, I won't let you."

Sam remained quiet.

"Sam?"

No answer.

"Sammy?" Dean tried again, desperation in his voice. "Sammy?"

Sam remained still and quiet before him. Dean stared at him, destroyed.

"So this is it?" Dean asked. "You're leaving me now? But why? Coz of a stupid car accident? That's not right, Sam. You can't die like that, not from a car accident! You survive demons and ghosts, wendigos, werewolves, vampires and then you go and die in a car accident! It can't end like this! It's not right!"

Sam didn't seem to be listening.

"God, Sammy, I'm so sorry!" Dean cried, dropping to his knees and holding onto his brothers hand. "I'm so sorry. Please tell me you can hear me. Sam? Please!"

Silence.

"Sam?" Dean looked up at his brothers face, grief choking him painfully. "Sammy?"

FOR MUFFY

AN - Dean was getting chatty and he wanted to have a break from being beaten on, but I dont think this is what he had in mind! lol Hope you like!

Hugs for Muffy! Send lotsa hugs for a special chapter! Oh, and as for me, at least ONE reviewer owes me a SPOON for my Nutella! lol


	8. Chapter 8

Dedicated: TO MUFFY! I'm glad to report that she is feeling more cheerful. A bit of Dean whumpage and all the wonderful messages of support from wonderful reviews and PMs have done they're job. So, job done, huh? No need to write more story, I can retire! Right? Ri- Muffy! Put that down! I'm gonna keep writing, I promise! No, please! Help! She's coming for me! I can type faster, I swear! LoL So, this story is dedicated to the wonderful, sweet and _gentle_ Muffy, my dear, dear friend!

Beta'd by the amazingly talented TraSan. And I totally messed around with this after she beta'd so everything that's left is my own fault! TraSan was very supportive and encouraging about this chapter, even though I was really worried about it and biting my nails and stuff. Be gentle with me people! Please? Oh, yeah, I was thanking TraSan! LoL Love your work, hun!

To VIREZZ: The simple answer to your question is that it happens after the car accident, but you haven't missed a link in there at all. Remember, Dean's having some hallucinations, he's been hit by a car and has swelling on the brain and has just come out of surgery, so all of that could mean all sorts of dreams or something interesting going on. Whether he's having nightmares, hallucinations or something else, I'm not going to answer, just know that you're not lost or left behind in anyway. I like to get particularly creative and stuff with my writing, and this is just another chapter I've written like that. And you're not the only one confused, either  Thanks so much for reviewing and I'm really glad you're enjoying the fic!!! This chapter was supposed to be confusing – hey, just think how Dean must be feeling! LoL

**Chapter Eight**

Sam had been staring at Dean's face for a couple of hours, ever since Bobby had left. Several nurses had come and gone, tutting at him for leaving his bed and sitting in an uncomfortable seat beside Dean's bed instead of resting. Although Sam's injuries were nowhere near as bad as Dean's, he had still been instructed to rest and was on some pain medication as well as fluids.

Sam didn't care. He ignored the nurses who tried to hustle him back to bed, didn't even seem to notice when the doctor came to try to talk to him. Doctor Draper must have known he wasn't going to win since he left when it became apparent that no conversation was to be had, at least, not a two-sided conversation, anyway. Sam wasn't even looking at him, wouldn't speak and showed no signs he was even aware of the doctors presence. Nothing could drag Sam's attention from his brother.

Doctor Draper was now standing in the doorway, quietly watching. There was something about this family that he couldn't figure out, but his heart went out to them.

It had gone unnoticed by Sam that there were tired eyes looking up at him, confusion glistening in them. He finally noticed and sat upright in his chair suddenly, ignoring the pain shooting through his own body.

"Dean?" he whispered, not wanting to believe it was possible his brother was awake in case he was wrong.

Dean blinked but didn't respond.

"Can you hear me?" Sam asked, squeezing Dean's arm gently. Dean looked away, clenching his jaw. He seemed angry. "What's wrong, Dean? Talk to me!"

"'am dead," Dean muttered, closing his eyes as tears shone in them.

"You're not dead, Dean," Sam assured him. "I promise. You're going to be fine."

"Not real," Dean whispered, turning away from Sam. Sam's heart dropped as he realised what Dean was saying.

He wasn't asking if he was dead, he was _telling_ himself that _Sam_ was dead!

"I'm not dead, Dean," Sam insisted, getting to his feet and leaning over his brother, gently turning his head so Dean was forced to look at him. "See? I'm okay. I'm alive."

Dean's eyes searched his face, digging deep in the depths of his eyes, but disbelief and grief still shone brightly. He finally shook his head and looked away again.

"Dead," he muttered.

Sam sighed. This wasn't going to work, time to figure something else out.

"You had an accident, Dean," Sam told him. "Do you remember?"

Dean nodded.

"You died," he muttered, a sob escaping painfully. "I killed you."

"You didn't kill me. I'm fine," Sam insisted, "just a few bruises, nothing new. But you were on the road, Dean. You were nearly hit by a truck, but-"

Dean looked at him again, his eyes narrowed in consideration.

"You saved me."

"No," Sam whispered, feeling a pang of guilt and regret in his stomach. "I pushed you out of the way of the truck, but you were hit by a car. The doctor says there's some swelling in your head, they might have to do some sort of procedure to fix it. I'm hoping that it's gone down on its own since you're awake."

"You're not dead?" Dean asked, his voice louder now. He seemed more awake and even tried to shift to sit up.

"You have to lay still, Dean. You had surgery, some pretty nasty injuries," Sam explained, holding him still. "And no, I'm not dead."

Dean settled back against his pillows obediently, relief relaxing the lines on his face a little. His eyes flitted around the room a little, trying to figure out where he was and who might be watching. His breathing hitched painfully.

There were people there, staring at him. Their mouths were open wide, as if in a silent scream. Their eyes were sightless, dead. Grey skin, clothes hanging loosely around them.

"What about… th-them?" he stammered, looking at Sam desperately. "A-are they r-real?"

Sam glanced over his shoulder. The room was empty except for them.

"What are you seeing?" Sam asked, ignoring his instinct to assure his brother that there was no one there. He had to start remembering this was a hunt, that he needed Dean's information before he could help him.

"People. A-about… six of th-them…" Dean stumbled over his words again, closing his eyes so he wouldn't see the people staring at him, screaming at him. They had raised their arms and were pointing at him, getting closer and closer. "Th-they l-look dead a-and p-pissed off…"

Sam hesitated. In their line of work, could he really assume they were hallucinations? Hallucinations or not, they were scaring the crap out of Dean, clearly real to him.

"Seeing dead people, Haley Joel?" Sam asked, trying to lighten the moment and push the dread he felt aside. He knew he hadn't pulled it off as his laugh was forced and his voice shaky. "Dean-"

"Th-they're cl-closer!" Dean gasped, pulling away from him and trying to bury himself deeper into the bed. Sam wouldn't have been surprised if Dean had pulled the blanket over his head to hide the way Sam had when he was five. "S-sam, make them g-go away!"

Sam didn't know what to do. Dean's breathing was getting more desperate, his face pale, his body trembling. He was on the verge of full on panic and Sam didn't know how to help him.

"Dean, they're not real, okay?" he told him. "You gotta stay with me, Dean. Hold on… they're not real. I'm real!"

Dean's eyes locked with Sam's and Sam smiled down at him. He held Dean's hand to his own cheek and kept smiling.

"See? I'm real, Dean," Sam repeated. "Not them. I'm here. I'm real."

Dean was making a real effort to control his breathing, but Sam could see it was coming at a price. The heart monitor was beeping to indicate Dean's high heart rate and Sam glanced up at it for only a second, not willing to lose that eye contact with his brother for long.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam continued, squeezing Dean's hand tighter. "Hang in there. Just breathe, okay? Remember, I'm real. They're not real, Dean."

"Not real," Dean whispered, desperately. "Not real."

His eyes tore away from Dean as something caught his attention and Sam shifted, climbing onto the bed carefully so he could stay in Dean's eye line.

"Dean!" he called. "Stay with me. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?"

"Th-they're right behind you," Dean hissed, his breath catching again. "I-I c-can't br-breathe!"

"Shit," Sam muttered, grabbing the oxygen mask from the wall behind Dean's bed and fastening it over Dean's face. He switched it on and held Dean's head still, forcing him to see him. "Just breathe, Dean. They're not real, they can't hurt you."

Dean's breathing slowed, the oxygen working its way into his lungs and taking the pressure of him. He seemed visibly more relaxed but Sam could sense the tension in his body and knew the apparitions were still there. Dean's eyes kept jumping around the room and Sam wondered what else he was seeing, but his presence seemed to keep him somewhat grounded.

"Can you talk about it? Tell me what's been going on?" Sam asked. Dean hesitated and Sam knew that he wouldn't get every detail. After everything Dean had seen in his life – and death – Sam could only imagine the sorts of things that were haunting him. "It might help."

Dean shook his head.

"It's like a bad trip or something. I keep seeing things, hearing things… it's like I'm walking through a fog or something," Dean explained, his breath fogging up the mask covering his face. He hesitated and Sam could see that there was something specific bothering him, something they had to talk about. He knew they had to talk about it because Dean looked stricken.

"What is it?" Sam asked him. "What are you thinking?"

"Sam, I-"

A nurse burst into the room, heading over to Dean's bed dragging a trolley with her.

"Time to do your obs," she announced, falsely cheerful.

"No," Sam growled at her, eyes flashing angrily. "Get out. Now."

"I-"

"Sam…"

"You can come back in a few minutes," Sam told her, his voice softening. "I'm sorry."

She didn't smile, showed no sign of accepting his apology, she just left the trolley where it was and left.

"Sam, what's with you?" Dean asked, refusing to look passed his brother. The people, or whatever they were, were reaching for him, trying to reach his throat. Dean knew his breathing was getting ragged again and forced himself to hold on.

"Sorry, I just… we have to figure this out, Dean," Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "And I don't think we have much time left."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so I need to know what you were going to say."

Dean hesitated again.

"I don't know what's real, Sam."

"What do you mean?"

"I had a dream. I hope it was a dream, because the alternative is just…" Dean shook his head, his breath catching in his throat again. He still had the oxygen mask on and he was certain that, without it, he would have passed out by now. "I couldn't live with it."

"What happened?"

"You died and I couldn't save you. In a stupid car accident and…" Dean shook his head again, avoiding the dead eyes around him, the 'people' circling his bed now. They were talking to him, but he couldn't hear their words. He knew they were taunting him, though. "What if that's real? What if this is the dream?"

"It's not."

"What if I'm really in a padded cell somewhere and none of this is real at all?" Dean asked, fear lacing his voice again. It was a new fear, this time. One that Sam could understand given everything they'd been through in their lives. You had to wonder if you were crazy sometimes, it was a natural response to their reality.

"Dean, stop it," Sam told him, gripping his hand again. "You're not in a padded cell. You're not crazy. I'm not dead. Okay?"

"Then why is this happening? What's wrong with me?"

"We think the ghost did something to you," Sam explained gently. "A bit like what happened to me at the asylum."

"But the ghost is dead, gone, dusted. So if he did something to me, why hasn't it gone away?"

Sam shook his head.

"That's the part that's confusing us. We found part of a needled stuck in your hip, we think that's why you were itching and in so much pain. Do you remember anything about that from when you were attacked?"

Dean shook his head, no.

"We think that it was what he used to inject you with a drug, probably a hallucinogen. I don't think it's the real thing, though, because it wouldn't have lasted this long if it was. There's some sort of supernatural element to it and that's where the problem is."

"Who's we?" Dean asked, looking confused and more than a little concerned.

"Bobby. I called him and he's been trying to help me figure this out," Sam explained, easily. Dean had obviously been too out of it to remember the older hunter's presence.

Dean nodded.

"So this ghost. He drugged me with some kind of supernatural speed?"

"Basically."

"Well, that can't be good," Dean responded, offering a small smile. "Shame I can't be having a fun trip, huh."

"What, with pink elephants?"

"Nah, just hula girls with loose morals."

Sam chuckled.

"Nothing changes, huh?" Sam asked, lightly. "You know, even after everything…"

Dean waited but Sam didn't continue.

"What? After everything, what?"

"You're just, well, you. I tried so hard, Dean. I tried so hard to get you out of hell, to stop you from having to go there in the first place, and I failed. Every day I knew you were suffering – for me. I hated it. I was angry at you for making the deal, for not letting me die, and I was pissed as hell at myself for not being able to stop it! I wanted to die, Dean, when you were gone. I couldn't live with it, knowing where you were, but I had to because otherwise you'd be there, suffering for nothing."

"Sammy-"

"Why did you do it, Dean?" Sam asked the question that he'd wanted to know for such a long time it had burned a hole in his chest. "I died and it sucked, sure, but why did you have to make the deal? After what Dad did and what that did to you? After what you said to those people about the deal's they'd made? Why did you do it? I just don't understand how you could do that."

Dean was quiet for a minute, watching his brother carefully. The 'people' around them seemed weaker than before, their impact on him was less as he was forced to listen to Sam's words and see the pain in his eyes.

"Sam-"

"Dean, please," Sam whispered, leaning forward in his seat. Tears were slipping down his cheeks now and Dean felt his heart breaking at the pain his brother was suffering, that he had caused him. "I have to know."

"Sam-"

"How could you expect me to live with that? How am I supposed to live with it now, watching you drinking to numb the pain of whatever you're feeling, whatever you've been through? How am I supposed to deal with all this? It's my fault! I did this to you! You went to hell because of me! God, I just can't get my head around this, I can't…"

"Sammy?" Dean asked, seeing his brother breaking before him. He didn't know where it was coming from or why it was happening now, but he was getting really worried. Sam was pale and looked so small and weak that it frightened him.

"I can't lose you again, Dean," Sam told him. "I don't even know where you'd go! What if you go back to hell because of the deal? I mean, is it broken or are you just out for good behaviour or something? And now this is happening and I just don't know how to help you! If you'd just left me, let me die – _stay dead – _then none of this would've happened! You wouldn't have gone to hell and I wouldn't have-"

"Sam, stop it," Dean interrupted, ripping the oxygen mask from his face and tossing it aside. "This isn't helping!"

"And you think you were? You were selfish, dammit! What the hell were you thinking? Coz you weren't thinking about me, you were just thinking about yourself! You just didn't want to be alone, you didn't want to have to be the one grieving so you brought me back so I'd have to suffer instead! I had to watch you die, right in front of me! I had to _live_ knowing that you had died for me!" Sam shook his head, anger bubbling over. He got to his feet and paced around the room. "You selfish bastard! You didn't care about what I was going to have to live with! You didn't care!"

Dean opened his mouth to tell Sam the truth, desperate to stop the tears that were streaming down his face, but before he could say anything Bobby walked into the room. He stopped short when he saw the brothers staring at each other.

"Sam?" he asked, approaching the younger brother first. Sam quickly wiped away the tears but Bobby hadn't missed them. "You okay?"

Sam nodded dumbly.

"What's going on?"

"He's still having the hallucinations," Sam told him, knowing that that wasn't what Bobby had been asking about. "I told him about the drugs."

"Oh, okay," Bobby nodded, looking between both of them. "Everything else okay?"

"Fine," Sam muttered, guiltily. Dean could see the shame Sam felt right then and knew he was mad at himself for unloading everything onto Dean. Dean didn't blame him, not at all. The truth is, he'd been saying the same things to himself ever since he'd faced Bobby after Sam had come back. He wanted to be able to explain it to him, to make Sam understand, but he knew he never could. Sam was right, he had been selfish. After everything he'd been through, he just couldn't let Sam die. If given the chance to do it all over again, even now that he knew what hell really was, he knew he'd make the same choice.

Sam was alive and Dean could never regret that.

"So what's the – shit!" Dean gasped, throwing himself back against the pillows as pain shot through his body, emanating from his head. "S-sam!"

Sam was already at Dean's side, holding his hand as he tried to figure out what was wrong.

"Dean? What-"

"Th-they… th-they're g-gonna kill m-me!" Dean gasped. "Th-they… I-I c-can't… pl-please…?"

Sam glanced at Bobby.

"Did you get it?" he asked, realising that the hallucinations Dean had been fighting all this time were taking him over, forcing pain and panic through his mind. The drugs were starting to affect him in more ways than even Dean knew and there was only one thing Sam could come up with to help him.

Bobby nodded, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the syringe. Sam took it, flicked the bubbles out and glanced at his brother. Dean's eyes were panicked, begging him for help, to make it stop.

"S-sam, pl-please," Dean gasped. "I c-can't… I'm g-gonna…"

"It's okay, Dean," Sam assured him, slipping the needle into his flesh and pressing down on the syringe. Dean's eyes slipped shut as the drug took over his consciousness and, for the first time since he'd been attacked by the ghost, Dean seemed peaceful.

"We can't keep this up, you know," Bobby spoke up, not looking at Sam.

"I know," Sam agreed.

"Any idea how we're going to figure this out?"

Sam finally met Bobby's gaze and they both knew the answer right away.

FOR MUFFY!

A/N Now, now people. I know you're probably about ready to tear strips off me for Sam's little breakdown and unloading all that onto Dean when he was on oxygen, but just remember what the poor guys been through. Dean died right in front of him, went to hell for him and Sam couldn't help him. And now Dean's back and suffering because of what he'd been through in hell and watching that is hard on Sam, too, because he knows it's because of him. Now that Dean's hallucinating and could be dying, and Sam can't figure out how to help him, he's just suddenly overwhelmed by everything. So before you go getting upset, look at it from his point of view and no yelling at Jen coz Jen very sensitive soul and yelling makes me sad!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N - I'm so sorry this has taken so long to update, It was beta'd sometime around a week ago but I had some things happen that caused me to be unable to post. First started with serious internet problems, and second ended with my attending a funeral for a dear friend of mine today. I was going to post it this morning before leaving, but the document manager was down so I couldn't do it until now. For further information and a memorial to my friend, see the note at the end of the chapter.

Dedicated: To Muffy, my wonderful friend and confidante, amazing support and incredibly talented writer :)

Beta'd by the awesome and amazing and wonderful and incredible and talented and gorgeous TraSan. And if you find any mistakes, no she didn't miss anything, I tinkered. What can I say? My bad :)

**Dean**

**Chapter Nine**

When Dean opened his eyes again there was no sign of his brother, no sign of the 'people' haunting him and no sign of the pain that had pulsed through his last conscious moments. Dean was relieved, at least about two out of three of those things. His missing brother was cause for concern and Dean immediately pulled himself to sit up so he could look around better.

It was a mistake immediately, he realised as his head swam. Nausea ripped through him and he gritted his teeth against the rising bile in his throat. He was gasping, trying to catch his breath, when the door swung opened and Bobby walked into the room with a coffee in one hand, pen between his teeth, a notebook tucked under his arm and an ancient text in his other hand.

His eyes lifted when he heard the noise from Dean's bed and immediately, his juggling act forgotten and everything falling to the floor, Bobby rushed to his side and hit the call button behind the bed.

"Dean?" he asked, holding Dean up as he seemed to grow weak. "What's wrong? What's happening?"

Dean couldn't answer. The bile was burning his throat and he could barely get air into his lungs let alone get words out of his mouth. He felt like he was drowning in acid and his panic was quickly growing.

A nurse bustled into the room, followed closely by Doctor Draper.

"What's happening?" Doctor Draper asked, his eyes widening when he saw Dean gasping for breath. He immediately pressed Dean to lie back down and held the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. "You shouldn't be getting up just yet, Dean. You've had some swelling around the brain and, until that's settled down, you're going to have to rest. Moving around can cause all sorts of problems and complications anyway."

Dean didn't even nod his head, but his eyes indicated he understood. His breathing seemed to be calming down as he remained still, patiently allowing the doctor to check him over.

"I'm going to order another MRI, Dean," Doctor Draper told him gently, scribbling notes on his file before looking at him carefully. "We need to check on that swelling. If it doesn't go down on its own we may have to move quickly. Did your brother tell you how we relieve that pressure?"

Dean frowned. He couldn't really remember much of what they'd talked about, but he knew most of it was about the deal. What he did remember made his chest hurt, so he pushed it aside and stared blankly up at the doctor.

"Well, let's just wait until we see what the MRI says before we worry about it," Doctor Draper suggested. "I'll go arrange that now and someone will be along to take you down in a little while. Until then, try to relax. We don't need you hyperventilating in the meantime."

Doctor Draper, nurse in tow, left the room. Bobby waited til he was gone before turning his attention back to Dean and watching him carefully.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" he asked gruffly. "What were you doing? Trying to get out of bed, I bet!"

"Bobby-" Dean gasped, his voice hoarse and muffled.

"Sam's gonna be pissed when he sees you on oxygen again, and you know who he's gonna be pissed at dontcha! Not you, that's for sure! He'll be pissed at me! Coz that's just how you Winchesters work, you get all over-protective of each other and then it's too hell with everyone else! Besides, ya can't get pissed at someone on oxygen! It's a universal get out of jail free card!"

"Bobby-" Dean tried again, closing his eyes as he remembered his brother's words and knowing the anger and pain that was behind him. You could get pissed at someone when they were on oxygen, but only if they sold their soul and went to hell to save your life, leaving you behind to cope with everything on your own and… Dean sighed, realising that Bobby wasn't finished and that his thoughts weren't going to help him get through the next few minutes.

It seemed it was Bobby's turn to unload.

"I mean, hell Dean… aw, sorry, I meant… well, bugger it! Hell! And I'm sick of you two not talking and then I end up in the middle of everything and-"

"Bobby!" Dean spoke louder this time, determined to get a word in. Bobby was annoyed and understandably so, but Dean had to find out answers to a few questions and he knew that Sam wouldn't tell him the truth.

"What?" Bobby snapped back.

"Where's Sam?"

"Oh, he snuck outta here a while ago, muttering something about a library or something," Bobby told him, sighing and sitting in the uncomfortable chair. He hadn't remembered his coffee that was a pool on the floor, or the books surrounding it. Dean wondered how long it would take him, but he knew that the old hunter hadn't had an easy time of it either so he remained silent.

"We talked," Dean began, biting the bullet. So to speak.

"Oh yeah?"

"He kind of let me have it about the deal and everything."

Bobby nodded.

"Pretty much said everything you warned me about. How it was selfish and stuff," Dean continued. He wished Bobby would jump in and tell him he'd done the right thing, he'd saved his family and no one could ask anything more of him than that. Knowing that was wishful thinking since Bobby had been the first to have a go at him about it, Dean would've happily settled for something along the lines of 'well, he's right, it was selfish'. The silence seemed like a kick in the teeth, a complete lack of support and Dean was suddenly reminded of the newfound respect Bobby and Sam seemed to hold for each other and felt like an outsider. Realising Bobby was still waiting, Dean continued. "But he said some other stuff, too. I'm kinda worried about it."

Bobby's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What sort of stuff?"

"How he'd wanted to die after I'd gone to hell coz he couldn't live with what I'd done. How he can barely live now, seeing me… like I'm a reminder of it all, what I did for him. He was really angry, Bobby. Desperate even. I've never seen him like that, not once. Not even after Jess died, he was never that… broken."

Again Bobby remained silent.

"Bobby, I have to know," Dean told him. Bobby was already shaking his head, no. "Bobby…"

"Can't do it, Dean. Sam and I talked about it and he doesn't want you knowing anything about that time, not details anyhow. It wasn't a great time, Dean. Not for either of us and, to be brutally honest, I don't particularly want to talk about it."

"Come on, Bobby-"

"Dammit, Dean! Can't you ever leave well enough alone?"

"Well enough? What exactly is well enough? My little brother tells me he can barely live with himself because I saved his life, and you tell me that's well enough?"

"He's alive ain't he? And you're back from hell, ain't ya? What would you call it?"

"Damn lucky! And what the hell are you guys keeping from me? He's my brother and I have a right to know what's going on!"

"What about his rights? You never stopped to think about how he was going to cope with losing you, knowing you were in hell, didya? All you could think about was how _you_ were feeling!" Bobby took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Dean, I know that what you went through down there was probably more than we could ever imagine, but you have to remember something. We suffered too. Sam had to watch you get ripped apart by hell hounds and it wasn't a pretty sight. We had to bury you. We had to learn to live without you. Sam had lost his brother, the one and only constant in his life and he suddenly had to fend for himself. And me?"

Dean saw Bobby swallow hard and suddenly realised how hard the last few months really had been on the old man. Bobby meant the world to Dean, but Dean hadn't stopped to think how much he might me to Bobby.

"I lost a son that day, Dean," Bobby told him quietly. "We've all lost a lot in our lives. All of us. And then we lost you because of a decision you made. It messes with your head, Dean. It's like, on one hand we were angry with you for making the decision you'd made but on the other we… we just missed you."

"Bobby…" Dean pulled the mask off. He closed his eyes a moment and when he finally looked back again Bobby had pulled his hat off and was rubbing his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I never thought… I never realised… I just, God! I couldn't live without Sam and I never stopped to think that Sam would have to live without me. It was a selfish choice, but I thought you guys would be okay. I never thought…"

"You don't think enough of yourself, Dean," Bobby told him, not looking up yet. "You talk big about what you think of yourself, but when it comes right down to it you don't think you're worth all that much. Who knows, maybe you're right. Maybe you ain't worth much. Maybe none of us are. But if we're worth something to someone then that's how we should measure ourselves and dammit, kid, you're worth a whole lot to us. Especially Sam. He was destroyed when you died. He was, well, he wasn't Sam anymore."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, ignoring the rest of the conversation as the topic turned to Sam and that was much easier ground for Dean to deal with. "What was he like?"

Bobby shook his head.

"He was a shell. Barely. He didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't talk. It was weeks before he could look me in the eye. All he seemed to do was drink and, let's face it, Sam's never been one for booze. But he was after you died. Big time. He was barely holding on and then he just up and left one day," Bobby shook his head. "I spent ages looking for him, even came close a couple of times but he was always one step ahead. But I'll tell you one thing for sure. The Sam Winchester we knew was dead, he'd died right there on the floor with you. There was none of that annoying hope in his eyes, the naïve questions… nothing. He was just empty and bitter and bent on revenge."

"And now?"

Bobby shrugged and looked at Dean.

"You tell me."

"You guys seem to have this understanding these days. You seem a lot closer so, well…"

"I will never know him as well as you did, Dean. And now, you won't either."

FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY

Dean stared into the darkness of the blind fold. All he could hear was the thumping of the MRI machine and not even that was enough to drown out the thoughts racing through his head. He couldn't stop thinking about what Bobby had said and, of all the things he had endured in hell, he decided that this was worse. He was trapped inside a box that felt frighteningly like a coffin, it was loud and it was all he could hear and the worse part was he couldn't escape himself.

That was always the hardest part, being alone with himself. That's truly why he went to bars, aside from hustling money. It was so he wouldn't have to be alone with himself and his thoughts.

Sam hadn't returned by the time the orderly had come to take Dean for the MRI, so he hadn't had a chance to talk to him about anything that had been said. He needed to know what had happened after he'd gone, how Sam had been, what he'd done. The possibilities were endless and Dean was struggling to deal with the suggestions that were going through his mind. It didn't help that he was starting to feel incredibly weak, that he kept hearing voices calling to him, whispering his greatest fears.

_Sammy tried to kill himself, Dean. After you died. He slit his wrists! That would have landed him in hell, right next door to you! See Dean? See how well you saved him?_

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, pleading silently for the voices to stop. He didn't know how much longer he could lie there before he finally lost it and started clawing his way out – and that had some terrifying similarities to the day he had woken up in his own grave.

_You shouldn't have saved him, Dean. How do you know it's really him, that he's 100% Sammy Winchester? How do you really know? And anyway, he's different now. He's angry and bitter and hopeless, he's not the little brother you left behind._

Dean felt his chest tightening. He wished he could argue with the voices, but he couldn't. If everything Bobby had said was true, then Sam really wasn't the same person he'd known.

_I will never know him as well as you did, Dean. And now, you won't either._

Was that a voice or a memory, Dean wondered. He didn't have much time to ponder, however, as pain started pounding in his head again. It felt like his skull was going to split right open and he was suddenly very, very afraid.

_He hates you, Dean. He hates you for what you did, for leaving him behind._

Dean couldn't breathe, his throat felt like it was tightening, his body was weakening fast.

"Help," Dean whispered, weakly. "_Help me!_"

A voice, a real one, was speaking to him, but he couldn't hear them. He was lost deep within the panic raging through his body and mind and he couldn't find his way out. He was struggling, fighting, but he couldn't move, couldn't get away. He could hear a voice screaming but he didn't know who it was.

He wasn't conscious long enough after that point to realise that it had been him.

FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY FORMUFFY

Sam stood beside his brother's bed as the doctor spoke to him. He had plenty to say and none of it was good. Sam didn't want to hear it but he knew he had to listen if he had any hope of helping his brother. He had no other choice.

"The good news is, the MRI showed that the swelling is going down on its own accord. The medications we've had him on are obviously helping with that and he's pretty determined to fight and that's always important," Doctor Draper said again, somehow realising that Sam had missed half the conversation. "The bad news… well, we're not entirely sure of what's happened but Dean suffered some kind of seizure in the machine. He apparently started struggling to breathe, fighting to get out, begging for help and…"

"What?" Sam asked, seeing the hesitation on the doctor's face. "What happened?"

"He was screaming as if he were in incredible pain. There seemed to be some sort of swelling in his throat, restricting his airway and it wasn't so much a scream as a gurlge. He stopped breathing so we had to do a tracheotomy. By the time they got him out he didn't even seem able to recognise where he was or even who he was," Doctor Draper told him, his voice so serious that Sam couldn't help but gulp for air himself. "There's more. Something's attacking his body and we have no way of knowing what. After we had him sedated, we drew some blood and the results show that his kidneys are starting to fail. It might be a good idea to get yourself tested to see if you'd be a good donor. Your uncle too."

Sam nodded.

"Soon after we sedated him, he slipped into a coma," Doctor Draper continued. "I don't know what's killing him, but something is and until we know what that is I don't know how we can help him."

"How long does he have?" Sam asked, seeing Bobby walk in the room. He looked pale and had obviously heard the conversation outside, Sam's question the reason he'd finally walked in.

Once again, Doctor Draper paused.

"How long?" Sam growled, stepping toward the man that was trying to save his brothers life.

"Maybe twenty four hours," Doctor Draper answered. He saw the devastation in Sam's eyes and wished he could change things. Unless he knew what was wrong with his patient, however, there was just nothing he could do but wait. "If you have any idea what might be wrong with him-"

"None," Sam told him, though that wasn't quite true. It was just nothing that Doctor Draper would be able to help them with. "Do what you can."

Doctor Draper nodded grimly and, after a final glance at Dean, he hurried out of the room.

Bobby stood aside to allow him passed.

"You got anything?" Bobby asked, ignoring everything the doctor had said and got right down to business.

"I'm not sure," Sam admitted. "I've found one thing that might be helpful. It's usually something out of witchcraft, but there have been accounts of it happening from an angry spirit too. In witchcraft it's known as a Bloodstone Vengence Spell, but apparently when spirits have a special ability, like this drug and Ellicott's electric shock treatment, it can get into the blood and have a similar effect. From what I've read, it's pretty rare."

"How rare?" Bobby asked.

"I found two or three accounts of it happening, but they weren't very credible. The people usually at risk of this happening are people who have some sort of disturbance. Usually drugs or alcohol, which makes sense because they can't fight things off mentally the way-"

"Sam."

Sam sighed.

"I think Dean suffered this, call it a Supernatural Blood Poisoning, because of the time he spent in hell," Sam explained bitterly. "Even before that he might have been susceptible, probably since he made the deal."

Bobby shook his head, no.

"It would've started when you died," he replied, his voice low but sure. "That's when Dean started to break. When he realised that he couldn't protect you from everything. I don't think he really accepted that and when he brought you back I think he figured there would always be some sort of escape clause. Now, though…"

"There's not, and that's probably what's finished it off," Sam agreed. Bobby was making sense, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. Once again, the pain Dean was suffering was because of him. Sam just wished he could bring his brother some happiness instead of pain and torture and misery all the time.

"There a way to fix it?" Bobby asked. "Some sort of ritual?"

"Sort of, but you're not going to like it," Sam told him, finally meeting Bobby's eyes. "It's sort of a combination of blood-letting and bonding."

"Blood-letting? As in…?"

Sam nodded.

"We basically have to drain his blood, replacing it with something else, obviously. Because of the nature of his condition, we would have to replace it with my blood."

"Why you?"

"Because I'm the cause of all this."

"This isn't your fault, Sam."

"When it comes right down to it, this is all because of me, because Dean feels the need to protect me. It's always been that way, so I have to be the one who replaces the blood and, while that happens-"

"What? Sam, no… don't tell me-"

"Yup, I'll be there with him. We'll be one. My soul, or consciousness, will be in his body and I basically have to fight everything that he's seeing, everything that's affecting him. I have to bring him home."

"I've heard of this sort of thing, Sam, and even if you were able to bring him back, more often than not the spirit can't return to the body! They end up trapped, unable to find themselves again and the body just packs in and dies. While you're in Dean's head, there's nothing in your body that's keeping it alive and if you don't make it back in time-"

"It doesn't matter, Bobby," Sam told him, looking back at Dean. "He's got to learn that he can't protect me from everything and that, sometimes, I'm going to be the one who saves him. That's the key here, and if I have to die to prove it then that's what it's going to take."

Bobby got to his feet angrily, knocking the chair over so hard it ended up across the room.

"Bobby, what the hell?!"

"I talked to Dean tonight, before all of this," Bobby told him, his voice harsh as he waved his arm around to indicate the monitors and the oxygen that was keeping Dean alive. "He told me what you talked about."

Sam grimaced, knowing exactly what Bobby was referring to.

"Why is it you are in such a hurry to sacrifice yourself for each other? Why can't you see a future where you all live? Why does it even have to come down to who lives and who dies?!" Bobby yelled, pacing. He stopped and looked at Sam, lowering his voice. "I didn't tell him what happened that night, Sam. And I won't, but I still know about it. Is this the same thing?"

Sam looked away but shook his head.

"No," he whispered, tears in his voice. "It's not the same, Bobby, I swear. I have to try to save Dean, though. You have to know that I can't sit back and watch him die."

Bobby nodded.

"I know, kid," he agreed, standing by Sam's side with his hand on the young hunters shoulder. "Just don't be in such a hurry to sacrifice your own life, okay?"

"There's no choice, Bobby, and you know it."

Bobby didn't have to speak for Sam to know the truth. Bobby would never say the words, but it was clearly evident on his face in that very moment.

It was the only choice and it wasn't even a matter of which Winchester would live, it was a matter of if either of them would die.

And that, in the end, was nobody's choice.

FOR MUFFY!

Posted the night of the funeral of my beloved friend and everyone's adopted mum. I know she's never going to read this, but I guess I hope that by putting this out there the message will get through about how much she meant to me. She's the type of person that put everyone before her, she was an eternal optimist and the ultimate volunteer. She worked tirelessly with the Red Cross, volunteered at nursing homes and took the elderly shopping – even when she was pushing 65 herself! She was always a shoulder to cry on and was there for the most wonderful days of my life. She was there when I started dating the wonderful man I married, she watched us make our vows to each other and she was there the day my beautiful baby girl was born – the beautiful miracle I was told would never happen by the doctors but she somehow seemed to know better. She's what I aspire to and I hope that I can make her proud. She touched the lives of everyone she knew, and even those who hadn't met her felt the ripples she left in the world. She always said everything was wonderful, and I'm gonna fight to make sure it stays that way.

Love you, mum. Give Bert and Alyson a kiss for me, and give my babies a hug. We'll always remember and love you, I hope you know how honoured we are to have known you. We are better people for having you in our lives.


End file.
